


Fair is Foul and Foul is Fair

by silverneko9lives0



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted-BAMF!Frodo, Emotional Manipulation, Imprisonment, M/M, Rating may go up, Read at Your Own Risk, Sauron is called a deciever for a reason, Sexual Coercion, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture, non-con kissing and touching, tragic heroism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-08 17:50:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 25,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverneko9lives0/pseuds/silverneko9lives0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sauron has returned. The Fellowship had failed. With all the fellowship dead, with Gandalf’s whereabouts unknown, Frodo may very well be the only one left. But Sauron has plans for the Ring Bearer which may very well destroy all hope Middle Earth has left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_The boundaries which divide life from death are best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?_

_~Edgar Allen Poe~_

Time is immeasurable in this land. I used to count days by how many times I eat: three meager meals of stale bread and moldy cheese with a pitcher of vinegar to quench my thirst. I have lost count. I keep hidden in the corner of my cell, hungry, beaten, dirty. My shackles cut my tender skin. I do not speak, for to speak would earn a lashing from my jailor’s whip.

Not that it’d matter whether I speak or not. It doesn’t matter that I am beaten or starved (three small meals such as what I am given is hardly enough to give a Hobbit!), nothing they do to me will change anything.

It won’t bring Sam back. Or erase the image of my cousins’ heads held high on pikes. Or that Aragorn’s lifeless body was laid at the feet of Sauron. Or that Legolas was impaled. Or that Gimli was fed to a troll. Or that Gandalf—the only one of the Fellowship other than me who still lives as far as I know—is in hiding.

I will not hold it against him if he abandoned me to my fate. I deserve to be abandoned. I failed. There is no worse fate than living, knowing you are the one who held the fate of the world in your hands and letting it all slip away.

It would be merciful of them to kill me as they have my friends (no matter how gruesome their fate, they do not suffer any more), and let my misery end. But the Dark Lord delights in my sorrow. He will not kill me yet. Not until there is nothing he can take from me except my life.

_I was **right there**. Why did I let it take me at the very moment I could destroy it? After coming all this way, how could I let it take me?_

The door swings open, creaking. The cell is filled with light, burning my eyes. Is it time to eat again?

“Get up, Dog!” My jailor shrieks, pulling me to my feet by my hair. I prop myself against the wall as he unchains me from it. He grabs my hair again, dragging me out of the cell.

Are they finally going to kill me? I push aside such hope.

I ignore the leering grins of the Orcs and Goblins who watch us pass by. I’m lead down until we are in the Great Hall. The jailor pushes me down to kneel before the Dark Lord.

Sauron reclines on a throne made of rock. His silver hair is braided back, draped over one shoulder. His elfish appearance is marred by his fire-red eyes.

The Orc leaves, doors banging behind him. I don’t bother standing or looking up.

“I am sorry, Frodo.” His cold fingers—needles against my skin—press against my chin, forcing me to look up into his eyes. “The last few weeks have not been kind. But it is all well now. The campaign is over and I stand victorious before this world. Until this moment, I needed them to believe that their savior was dying in my prison.”

“Then kill me.”

“Why?”

“Please kill me. You showed the same kindness to my companions. You have won. What purpose is there for keeping me alive?”

Sauron removes his hand just as I was getting used to the touch. “Stand. Come with me.” I obey only because I haven’t any other choice.

 He leads me into a long hallway and I follow despite how hard it is to walk. At the end of the corridor is a door. Reaching into his robe pocket, Sauron produces a key. It was not a typical key with grooves along one side or a fat head. It was more a wand or a long stick with a sharp round blade. He inserts the oddly designed key into a hole where it fits snuggly, ramming it in, then out. Locks unhinge and the doors swing inward.

The room within is nothing like the rest of the palace. It is almost a Hobbit Hole, not unlike Bag End.

There are windows allowing me to look outside (not that I’d want to. Mordor is still a barren wasteland). There is a bookshelf— _three_ bookshelves filled from top to bottom with books of all styles and shapes and sizes! There is an armchair and a couch, both a light brown color. Warming the floor is a green rug with an oak coffee table on top of it.

A sizeable hearth with proper tools for care—a poker, broom, and dustpan—stand beside it. There are several logs piled up besides it and a collection of matchboxes. A warm fire crackles and snaps embers within it. Above the hearth is a mantelpiece with different memorabilia. _Sting_ is there! It is encased in glass, glowing blue. I doubt its light will ever die so long as I am here. A clock read the time as eleven. But was it morning? Or was it night?

There is a hallway leading to a kitchen and dining room. And perhaps a bedroom and study? I don’t know.

“There is no need for you to be any more uncomfortable than you already are,” he said, pushing me into the room as a parent would push a shy child. “I hope it is to your liking. I tried to have it become as near a replica of our home in the Shire as possible.”

“What do you mean _our_ home?”

“Whether you wish to admit so or not, I lived in Bag End with Bilbo for sixty years. With you for nearly half that time. It was my home too.” Sauron smiled. It was such an odd thing to see on his face that I felt taken aback that someone so evil could be capable of such a kind expression. “There is food already prepared for you in the kitchen. Go and eat as much as you are able.”

As he spoke, two Orcs stepped in. There was something different about them. They were lithe as some are, but there was some sort of…well, if I were to admit it, something _distinctly feminine_ about them from the way they carried themselves. Their deformed skin was less unpleasing to look upon. Their ears were slighter and their eyes larger.

Until then, I hadn’t thought of that Orcs had females of their race. Perhaps they kept their women hidden. Or their women were merely indistinguishable to me until now.

“When you’ve had your fill, a bath will be ready for you.”

I bite my tongue to stop the automatic “thank you” on the tip of it. The refusal to give my gratitude to Sauron left a lingering, sour aftertaste on the tip of my tongue. Instead, I went to wash it off with the food laden on the table with food I normally ate at Elevensies.

Ham slices warmed by stovetop, hash potatoes with ketchup, strawberries and cream, cheese scones….

I swallowed, sitting down. My hand shot out, like a predator on its prey, seizing a scone. Either I forgot I wasn’t alone or I simply didn’t care that my manners at that moment were atrocious. I dismissed the twinge in my heart and my head telling me to slow down and be proper for goodness sakes! But I would not let propriety get in the way of regaining a proper Hobbity paunch.

I halt, almost choking on a scone, when I feel I press of lips to the top of my head. “Eat to your heart’s desire, Frodo. I will join you for dinner tonight and we will talk more.”

I don’t know what to make of that. My skin is crawling and my appetite is lost. I swallow what is already in my mouth and wash it down with tea before shooing the servants away to bathe. It is awful to even look at myself. My ribs poke out, covered only by my skin. My arms are almost sticks and it’s a miracle my legs are still strong enough to hold me up.

I feel sick just looking at my body and I wish I had the courage to end my own life.

Why can’t I be more like Bilbo? Why can’t I be more like the strong and courageous Bilbo who my grumpy and eccentric Bilbo remembered being once upon a time? What would he do in this situation? Would he wish to take his own life? He probably would…

 No. Now that I think about it, Bilbo would say that suicide was the coward’s route. He would not take his own life. He’d take Sauron’s life and the lives of as many Orcs and Goblins as he dared to if it meant finding a way to get free. He’d be smart about it. He’d only kill if he needed to.

I get out, deciding to try and eat a little more. The clothes left for me hang off my body and it makes me realize how much I really need to eat before I can dare to be strong enough to escape.

Because that is what I must do. Not die, not kill, but escape. Bilbo might still be alive and I have to find him before it’s too late. I only hope it’s not been.

My poor uncle! What he must think of me now that I’ve failed! And how many believe me to be dead? All of Middle Earth? This whole world?

I can’t fathom it and would they be furious if I still lived or would they be relieved? Would they think we still stood a chance if I lived or would they rather I have died for my failure?

“Either way you look, it’s bleak,” I remind myself, pouring more tea into a cup. “But you may as well try to get away nevertheless. Better to die trying to escape or die free than to stay alive in this prison.”

#

“You are not eating.”

Sauron appraises me, frowning. I stare at the food before me rather than at his ethereal eyes.

“I ate a lot during the day since I was taken to…those rooms,” I say. I don’t know what to call it. “So my appetite is quite sated for now.”

I dare to look at him. His lips turn upward and I cannot help but think that he is rather beautiful when he smiles— _where did that come from?_ I avert my gaze from his, tugging at the hem of my shirt nervously.

“I am glad to hear you are sated. I know you have been starved and it is a cruel torture. So eat as much as you are able to. I would have you beautiful again.”

I feel warmth seep up to my face, staring at the table again. “I am ill because of you,” I hiss.

“Perhaps,” he replied, nails clicking atop the counter. “But we were at odds before now, my love. No longer. You are a guest of my house and will be treated as such.”

“I am not your love!” Frodo shouted, standing. “You stole everything from me! Your servants tried to kill me! _You_ tried to kill me! Many times! How dare you call me ‘your love’?! I despise you! I always will despise you!”

He strode toward the door and barely made it before a hand seized his throat and shoved him against the wall, rising far too high off the ground. Frodo gasped, clawing at the hand and trying to kick Sauron off him. The other hand pinned his feet down.

“You would do well to remember where you are, Frodo,” Sauron growled. I gasped for air, tearing at his hands. “After all this time, do you really despise me? Or is that what you want to tell yourself?

“I love you, Frodo. I always have loved you since you first walked into Bilbo’s house to live there as though you were his son. You were twenty-one, remember: a mischievous little boy who fancied himself to know more about the world than the adults around him. Save for Bilbo, the only Hobbit you honestly and humbly respected.

“And I loved you the moment you found me and touched me. I could see you then and you were a beautiful child. I could see you would be beautiful even in adulthood.

“You truly think I would have let you kill me? I’m no fool, Frodo. I wasn’t going to let you do that. Especially not after all the nights we spent together, as you pet my Ring.”

“You’re insane,” I wrangled out of my throat. I’d like to say I wasn’t afraid, but at this moment, I can’t seem to lie. “Just let me go.”

“Where will you go?” Sauron asked. “The moment they discover you’re alive, Frodo, you’ll be killed. They won’t let you live. You’ll never make it back to the Shire. It’s safer here.” He lowered me to the ground and I fell against the wall, curling into myself. Sauron knelt, trying to pull me into his arms.

“Don’t touch me!” I shout, finding my strength again to run from the hall. He does not follow. I manage to find the rooms he gave me and I collapse into the armchair, weeping and tearing at my hair.

I don’t want to die here.


	2. Chapter 2

I would not come out for three days. It’s easier to count the days now.

Food comes in regularly and I eat until I feel I’m going to burst. Each night I’m urged to join Sauron in the dining room.

I refuse to go, locking the guards and servants out of the…whatever this is. House? Chambers? Rooms?

I don’t know.

Either way, I throw them out by the time I’m told Sauron wishes to see me.

I don’t want to see him, so I don’t.

It is near dinner time on the fourth day and I am reading by the fireplace, rubbing my neck. The bruises Sauron left are now yellow, but the day after I woke, they were purple.

A shadow looms over me.

“I’m not going,” I say. “And that’s final.”

“I am aware.”

I jump up, the book sliding to the ground. The pages are going to bend! I rescue the book as quickly as I had dropped it. I cradle it to my chest, meeting Sauron’s gaze with a glower. He knelt, reaching for me and I jump away.

“Why must you shy from me?”

“Why do you insist on painting me out to be the cruel one after all you have done?” I retort. “I think my caution is justly warranted.”

“I missed you,” he said, trying to switch the subjects. “I had hoped you’d come and dine with me, Frodo. I suppose…”

He reaches out for me again and I back away further until my back hits a wall and he traps me, cupping my cheek. His hand moves to my neck and I try to calm my racing heart, fisting my hands to keep them from lashing out. His eyes glisten from unshed tears.

“I am sorry. I should have realized that I had hurt you in my anger. I am sorry, Frodo.” His thumb strokes my neck. “I am sorry. Please believe me, Frodo. I love you and I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Stay away from me,” I snarl, breaking away and hiding in my room, barricading the door with the dresser. I take deep breaths. It’s hard to breathe, so I go to the window and open it, gasping for air.

“Frodo! Frodo, open the door! _Frodo_!”

 _Valar, give me strength_ , I think, closing the window and sitting on the bed, trying not to cry.

#

I venture out in the morning, shocked at the flowers decorating the room.

Apple blossoms, daffodils, geraniums, hyacinths, hydrangeas, ivies, orchids, red roses, white roses, tuberoses, red and yellow tulips, violets, and wysterias are woven into wreaths hanging on the wall.

Some are in vases, one on every surface I find, each of different flowers, most of them are made of red and white roses. They are bouquets telling lies.

How’d they manage to get them here? To grow them?

Mordor is barren and sick!

So how…

“Do you like them?”

I turn to the kitchen. Sauron sits at the table, legs stretched out.

“They are for you.”

“They’ll die in time. Especially in this Valar-forsaken land. They won’t last.”

“A spell is cast on them to withstand Mordor’s…climate.”

He selected a deep red rose from one of the vases littering the room and stood, approaching me. He tucks the rose behind my ear, fingers lacing through my hair, combing the locks.

“Do you believe me?”

“No.”

All the flowers here speak of love and devotion in one way or other. I find it very hard for Sauron to be capable of loving anyone but himself.

“I think you will, given time. You’ll know I’m sincere.”

“You are named ‘Deceiver’ for a reason, Sauron. Lying is something you excel at.”

“I will never lie to you.”

“You already have.”

There is only shock and hurt in his eyes. He’s quite good. Always has been, I suppose. But his expression changes quick enough to fury.

The moment his hand is in the air, I anticipate the slap and manage to block it. My own hand slams into my ear and I stumble from the force, nearly collapsing to my feet. I race toward Sting, grabbing a book to break the glass—

I’m seized around the waist and flung away from the hearth, sliding across the floor and my head slams against the edge of the wall.

#

_Frodo, wake up._

I groan, turning my head. It hurts terribly, as though it had been hit repeatedly with a hammer. Or as though a black smith set shop in my head, banging repeatedly against an anvil.

_Please, Frodo, wake up. Please wake up._

I feel a kiss against my fingers and I dare open my eyes. The light makes my head hurt more.

“Frodo!”

The light is blocked and two hands press against my head. It’s gentle, but light. Something falls onto my cheeks. It’s wet and warm.

“Oh, Frodo. Thank the Valar you’re all right.”

I sit up, groaning, hands supporting my head. It is heavy in the pain I feel.

“Careful, Precious,” Sauron eases me back down. “Have some water.”

“Get away from me,” choke out, trying to push him away. My head hurts too much for me to put enough force in it.

He doesn’t move, supporting my head and pressing the lip of a cup between my teeth. Water seeps into my mouth. It’s cold and clean. Where did he get it?

“The healer is making a tonic for your headache,” he said. “He suggests you stay on your feet for the next few hours and not fall asleep. Thankfully it was just a bump.”

“And you wonder why I do not love you,” I manage, sitting up anyway. “If you want to convince me, the best way to start would be to leave me alone if you won’t let me go.”

“Frodo—”

“I’m not a fool!” I shout, managing to put some distance between me and Sauron. “Go ahead and say you love me. Maybe I will fall in love with you. But if the Valar wills, I will be dead before then! I wish I had not given in that one moment! I wish I had cast myself into the mountain if it meant I would succeed and you would be dead! My friends would be alive! The world would not be suffering as it is now!”

My legs gave out from under me and I hold my head in my hands. They find the bump on the back of my head and I wince, sucking in a breath. It still stings.

“How could you think I’d allow that?” Sauron replies, kneeling before me. He takes my hands away from my face, kissing my knuckles. “How can you think I’d allow you to die after all we’ve been through? All I wished, Frodo, since I met you was to have a body again so that I may hold you.”

“You wish to break me.”

“I wish to love you the way you loved Sam.”

Frodo sucked in a breath. “How—”

“I was with you for months, Trapped in my ring, feeling the beat of your heart.” His hand presses against my chest between my breasts. “The heart,” he continued, “is not as cognitive as the brain, but it is capable of thought as well. It’s quieter, softer, but no less powerful. If anything, it’s more honest.

“I knew, the moment I lay against your skin that you loved him: the way it fluttered when you were near him, how his smile would relieve even just a little bit of the burden you felt…the way it ached when he lamented being away from his beloved back in the Shire—I know it all. And I hated him. Loyal to you to the end, but so blind he could not see how you desired him.

“But I also knew you’d say nothing because you loved him too much to deny him what he really wanted. Your love for him knew no bounds, was unchained and was undaunted. You knew you may never have him, but you loved him anyway.” Sauron lowered his hand. “I’m afraid I’m more selfish than you.”

I manage to stand again, legs shaking beneath me.

“You’re wrong. You don’t love me the same way at all. The way I loved Sam, I could live with it, so long as he was happy I could live and watch him with the children he could have had with Rose as his wife. I urged him to pursue her because I knew that he loved her and wanted to be with her. I won’t deny that I was heartbroken when he started to talk about her, because I _was_ heartbroken. He was never going to speak of me that way, or think of me that way, or even look that way when he thought of me. To him, I was just a friend and I was willing to let that be no matter how deeply I loved him.

“But you? What you’ve done to me, I would _never_ do. Not to Sam. Not to _anyone_. Your love is hemlock. You intend to suffocate me, drive me to fear you as I never have feared before. You hope to choke me with it until I am unable to do anything but act as though I have died, pretending you are not who everyone says you are though I know very well that you are evil. You would have me be your pet leashed to a chain and a marionette you can control with a simple tug of strings. That is not love. You don’t know how to love.”

Sauron stares at me, lips slightly parted. He seems confused. Had what I said troubled him? Had he never thought about it before and truly believed he could treat me the way he does and expect me to love him back regardless?

“Perhaps you are right,” he sighed cupping my cheek. “Maybe I don’t know how to love, but that doesn’t mean I’m incapable of feeling love, Frodo.” He leans in, trying to kiss me. I turn away from him. He pulls back. His fingers twitch and I fear what he’ll do.

Will he seize my hair and kiss me against my will? Will he hurt me again? Slap me?

He does nothing, standing instead.

“The healer will be here soon. The medicine will be awful but take it anyway. And remember not to fall asleep. He will also bring you a drink that will help you regain your health.”

He leaves.

When I’m sure he is gone, I venture out of the bedroom.

The flowers are still here, happy and bright.

This isn’t okay.

They should be dying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> flower meanings: http://aboutflowers.com/flower-a-plant-information-and-photos/meanings-of-flowers.html


	3. Chapter 3

I haven’t left the chambers Sauron has made for me in weeks. He hasn’t visited me either. I’m healed, and I’m starting to look like a Hobbit again.

Along with being able to look in the mirror and not feel disgusted by the way I looked, I feel restless.

It’s time to get out of Mordor.

I study the glass casing for Sting, which is nailed into the mantle. I chew my lip and tap my foot. There must be _something_ I can use to get my sword out! I’m going to need Sting if I’m going to succeed.

I scan the kitchen. If there’s anything I can use to break the glass, it’ll be in here. A meat tenderizer, a rolling pin…there is hardly anything that can be used as a club or mace to break the glass with. The meat tenderizer is made of iron. The spikes are frighteningly sharp, but it would be the best thing I could use to get Sting out and as a second weapon.

I return to the living room, balancing on a wooden chair, and slam the hammer into the glass. It shatters on impact, the vibrations echoing around the room. I wait, heart pounding in my head, hoping I was not heard.

No one came to investigate, so I strap the meat tenderizer into my belt and wrap cloth around my hand to protect it from the shards as I take Sting out and sheath it before looping the belt around my waist.

My body is buzzing. It’s hard to think, but I force myself to err on cautions’ side, pushing the door open. I wince when it creaks. Still no one comes even as I step into the cold hallway. It’s raining outside. A dead tree outside is festering. The rain is either poisonous or it is acid. Either way, I’ll not make it until the rain stops and the ground is dry.

I slum against the wall, wanting to cry. Of all the luck, the day I finally think I’m able to escape, the _weather_ acts against me!

“No! _NO!_ ”

I perk up.

“LET GO OF ME!!”

I stand, heading toward the screams.

An Orc had pinned a woman down, ripping her clothes. She fought him, terror marring her face. He thrust his hips against hers, grunting though she kept fighting back, trying to push him off. A glance at her ears told me she was an Elf.

I raced at the Orc, slamming Sting into his thigh.

He roared, releasing the Elf long enough for her to straighten her clothes and break away. He punched me and I stumbled back.

He tried to go after her, so I jumped in front of him, ignoring the stinging within my mouth.

“Step aside, Halfling,” he roared. “The Elf’s mine.”

“I’ll kill you if you touch her again!”

“You want to take her place, Runt?”

I don’t. I really don’t.

Neither am I going to let him touch her again. I hear a thud behind me and break contact with him. She’s convulsing on the ground. I panic, turning back to the Orc and raising Sting just a little higher. She needs help, but who here would dare to help her save me. I’m too small to even carry her and I’m a little preoccupied standing guard over her.

“What is the meaning of this?” Sauron steps out from the hall. He stares at me and the Elf first, then at the Orc. The Orc backs off. “Frodo?”

“I heard screams from my room,” I say. “They got worse, so I took Sting and I went to investigate. He was raping her.” I swallow. “You really think I’m not going to stop something like this if it’s in my power to do so?”

Sauron knelt before me, touching my cheek. I wince. “Did he hurt you?”

“It’s just a bruise. It will heal. She’s the one who needs aid, Sauron.”

“Is that what you wish?”

“Yes.”

The Elf gasps for air and Sauron approaches her. He touches her temple and she calms down. Her limbs still. Her eyes close. I fear he killed her out of kindness until I see her chest rise and fall gently.

“She will live,” he assures me. “I erased the experience from her mind. As far as she is aware, she is home with her family and will remain so until she is out of Mordor.” I gape, unsure what to say. He pets my hair. “Is that suitable?”

“Yes.”

He turns to the Orc and pulls out his sword, a black, thin blade. My shoulder aches from the memory of being stabbed.

“M-my lord? No…please—”

Sauron swipes the sword.

I hear it cut through the air and the Orc goes silent. His head falls from his shoulders, rolling on the floor. The body collapses on the floor. Sauron cleans his blade on the corpse’s clothes. And I am shaken.

I’ve never seen an Orc beg for his life!

What sort of power does Sauron hold that even Orcs would fear to die at his own hand?

Sauron cups my uninjured cheek.

“Did you really hear her from your chambers?”

I nod, heart jumping to my throat.

“Frodo I made those rooms soundproof. I know you’re lying. Partly,” he grips my hair, pulling it.

I wince and he stares into my eyes. The thoughts I had before I came across the assault are pulled to the front of my mind for him to see. Sauron takes a shaky breath and releases me. He sheathes the sword and picks the Elf up.

“We need to talk about this…foolish desire to run away you have. Follow me.”

I obey, any hope I once had drained from me. Sauron heads to a room where he sets the Elf woman down on a bed before leading me away from her.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“To eat. It’s nearly time for second breakfast. Or have you forgotten about food?”

It had crossed my mind, but I decided I’d rather die than weigh myself down with food that could go bad on the journey.

Sauron divests me of the weapons I had, handing them to a servant. He forces me to sit beside him.

He leans on the table, massaging his eyes.

“Say whatever you will of me,” he sighed. “It will anger me, yes, and I am _trying_ not to act on it, Frodo. I am _trying_ to be better for you. Frodo, why do you _insist_ on driving my patience? Why do you wish to tear me apart when all I want is to protect you? If you go out there, do you think you’ll survive?”

“Anything is better than being here.”

“You won’t think that the moment you are caught and recognized?” he growled. “What part of they are going to kill you escapes you? Do you _want_ to die? They will burn you! They will destroy you, Frodo! You were to save them and you failed! You think they’ll forgive you?”

I stare at the table. Servants lay food atop it.

Sauron beckons one, whispering to him. The servant nods and leaves.

“Eat and I will show you that staying in Mordor is the best decision for you afterwards.”

“How?”

“You have seen the Mirror of Galadriel, yes? Have heard tell of Palantirs?”

“Yes. To both.”

“That is how I will show you.”

“But neither are concrete.”

“And yet the possibilities are still so prevalent that you would be a fool to disregard them, my precious. As you have proven I must drill it into your head, so I shall, but after you eat and see the healer about your cheek.”

“My cheek is fine,” I growl.

“Never the less, I would rather it be looked at,” Sauron insisted, meeting my glare. “Does it hurt much?”

Frodo cursed his heart for jumping. _What is happening to me?_ “I’ll live…”

Sauron relaxed. “I am glad to hear that.”

Second breakfast passed silently after.

Sauron looked over papers while I ate. It was oddly…normal compared to what he expected a dark lord would act like. However, he now could see that regardless of whether one is good or evil, there are some striking similarities between a good king and Sauron.

But does Sauron care what is perhaps on those pages?

Does he care that he has to maintain a country and sooner or later, all of Middle Earth?

The servant returned and whispered in Sauron’s ear just as I had finished eating. He nodded. “I will fetch you before teatime,” Sauron told me. “In the meantime, a healer will look at you and take you back to your chambers. Leave those here,” he pointed at Sting and the meat tenderizer. “They will be returned to you when I decide you can be trusted with them.”

I grit my teeth and clench my hands, wishing to flatten his straight nose. We stand and the servant leads me to the healer. I wince as the Orc pokes and prods the injury.

_Ice the bruise to reduce swelling. The cut will heal in time, try not to bite the inside of it and do not eat food on that side for at least a day._

He then grabs my middle and smiles nastily at me.

_Keep eating. You’re almost at your ideal body weight._

But that perhaps does not mean the weight a Hobbit should have. While it is true that my ribs aren’t poking out, I’m still far too skinny than I used to be or even should be.

Even if I did feel strong enough to dare an escape.

#

It is about three o’clock when Sauron comes to my rooms.

I’m curled on the couch, staring into the fireplace.

The glass shards had been cleaned and the servants that I had managed to get rid of are back, cooking food for tea in the kitchen. He sets a basin in front of me.

“Go ahead,” he says. “Look.”

I stare at the basin. I’m afraid to look. What will I find there? Will I be able to handle it? How much of it will be true? How much of it will I be able to discern as a lie?

I glance up at Sauron.

“You can, if you wish, leave the vision at any time,” he promised. “And I will be here to calm you down after. You have one hour. Tea will be ready by then and we will talk about what you see and take the time to calm your nerves.”

It isn’t all that reassuring, but I accept it. I stand and lean over the basin. For a moment, I feel as though I’ve been sucked into it.


	4. Chapter 4

A water drip echoed down the hall. Everywhere was cold, dark, and stunk of shit, piss, and only the Valar knows how many unsavory things.

I couldn’t see no matter how much I blinked only to realize I was blindfolded. My hands were hung over my head and my feet dangled off the floor. Perhaps I was hanging from the ceiling. Somehow, that seemed awful and I wished I knew how high up off the floor I was.

“I don’t see the point in keeping him alive at this point.”

“The steward insists on it,” another voice replied. “If it were up to me, I’d have cut his neck.”

The first laughed cruelly. “That’d be merciful, though, if you think about it. You really want to be seen as one who would show the destroyer mercy after his fuck up?”

“No. I would not.” There was banging against iron and I winced. “You still alive in there, you shit?”

“Oh, he’s alive. Just cuz he ain’t been fed much don’t mean he’s not getting water.”

“Pity he’s all skin and bones. He must have been quite pretty before for a male Halfling.”

“So the wizard says…”

“Wizard?”

_Gandalf…_

“Oh, aye. The wizard is trying to get him released so he can go back home. The Steward won’t have it, I hope. I’d like to see the Fucker punished for DOOMING US ALL!!”

I winced again.

“MY BROTHER DIED BECAUSE OF YOU!!! YOU LET THE DARK LORD RETURN!!!”

The shouts ended. Perhaps the guard was taken away? Frodo didn’t know. Nor did he wish to know. _I didn’t let anything happen…he was too strong…you put your hope in the wrong person…_

I bit his lip. My arms ached, my head felt heavy, and I was cold…

“Frodo?”

“Gandalf?”

“It is me.”

“Oh, Gandalf! You have to get me out of here.”

“I’m afraid that’s not an option.”

I felt as though a whip had cracked across his face. “Why not?”

“You’re to be executed tomorrow at dawn.”

“No, Gandalf, you have to know that the Ring was too strong—”

“Is that really what you’ve been telling yourself?”

“I didn’t mean to fail, but the Ring took over me, I swear it!”

“How did you ever get out alive?”

How indeed? “Sauron let me go. He meant to keep me captive, but he let me go. Gandalf, why would I conspire with him after all I’ve done to try and make sure he never returns?”

“I wish I knew that as well.”

“Maybe if I were to talk to Bilbo—”

“Bilbo is dead, Frodo. He died in Rivendell, heart filled with grief and shame.”

“What? When? Why was I not told?” I wait for Gandalf to answer.

“It has been a month since Sauron returned. The news of your disgrace would have arrived in Rivendell ten days after. Word of his passing came to me from Elrond six days ago. I’m afraid even if you were forgiven, Frodo, you would not be welcome in the Shire regardless. Bilbo sent word to the Thain and to the Master of Buckland. You are officially disowned from the Baggins family by now. Possibly also by any other clans you had relation to, including the Tooks and Brandybucks.”

I couldn’t breathe, no matter how much I tried. My throat felt airtight.

Disowned?

Disgraced?

How can this be! Of all the people who would understand or speak up on my behalf, wouldn’t Gandalf be one and Bilbo the other? Would Bilbo not demand I be returned to him so that he may deal with me as he sees fit?

I thought my uncle would at least understand how I could have failed. Or Gandalf. Or the Elves.

The Ring was just too strong…

“What are…how am I going to die?”

“I managed to convince Faramir to give you a merciful death. You’re to be burned at the stake, Frodo.”

“Burned?! They’re going to set me on fire?! How is that merciful?!”

“Most wanted you to be flayed, or drawn and quartered. Trust, me, Frodo, in this case, you’re getting off very easy. There are far worse ways to die.”

I shudder. This isn’t happening. I want out. I hear the tap of a staff and I wish I could scream. _It’s just a vision_ , I remind myself. _I’m not really going to be killed. I’m in Minas Morgul right now, in the chambers Sauron made for me. He’ll pull me out…won’t he?_

Tears prick at my eyes. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die…

_I don’t want to die!!_

The blindfold is taken off and I’m faced with several grim faced guards bearing the emblem of the White Tree. I’m set on my feet, having been hung from a height where I am at eye level with Men—so I was three feet off the floor until just now. They force a gown over my head. It stunk of rotten eggs and I shudder when I realize it had been drenched in sulfur.

My hands are bound and a bag set over my head. I’m lead up the stairs to the ground floor.

The people are shouting at me, hurling insults in my face, some dare to step out of line and kick me. The guards keep them back, but that is the most they do, pulling me back up and dragging me to a wooden platform. An erected post with metal rungs stands in the center of it and there is hay beneath the platform. Five soldiers stand firm around it, each holding a torch.

I am led onto the platform and turned to face the crowd. My hands are unbound and rebound to the pillar. My feet are tied down as well.

Gandalf stands beside Faramir, who wears the crown of the Steward. Gandalf’s face is downcast and I know he will not help me, even if I were to beg him to put a stop to this.

The screaming crowd quiets when Faramir stands.

“Frodo the Destroyer,” he began, “On this day, you will be burned at the stake until dead for allowing the Dark Lord Sauron to return. May your punishment be seen ever as a pillar of my mercy.” He waved his hand. The guards lit the hay beneath the platform.

There is nothing I can do now. If I’m going to die, I may as well die bravely. I stare at Gandalf. “I am sorry I was not stronger.”

The smoke thickens, rising through the wooden cracks. My eyes water and I it chokes me. Everything is getting hot. Too hot and the fire spreads only to where I am, contained within. It gets too hot to bear. The hair on my feet burn first as do the soles. Fire licks at my legs and the gown catches fire.

Soon I am screaming, unable to believe the pain—

I feel a hand yanking me back and the heat dies. I’m cold and it is a mercy. I gasp for air and try to contain my wails, failing.

I am held firmly in Sauron’s arms. He rocks me, hushing me, petting my hair and kissing me. “You’re all right,” he whispered. “You are safe, my precious. You are all right.”

“What…would they really…”

“It is a possibility too great to ignore, my love.”

“Bilbo…is he…did he really…”

“Yes. He is buried in a plot somewhere were Rivendell once stood. I have commanded that it be well kept for your benefit.”

“How…”

“Greif.”

“And…and shame?”

“No,” Sauron planted another kiss on my temple. “No matter what you did, no matter how badly you failed in their eyes, Bilbo could _never_ be ashamed of you.”

“In the…vision, he was…he disowned me.”

“And perhaps he would have, if he thought you lived still. However, that is the one part of the vision you have seen that I would disagree with the most if I did with anything you saw. Bilbo adored you, Frodo. He died believing you had passed away as well and I do not doubt that he ever stopped loving you. Nor ever could.”

It was slow, calming down. A servant took away the basin. Another offered me orange tea, keeping my cup full. A chocolate cake had been placed on the coffee table, left untouched. Sauron urged me to drink the tea, petting my hair and kissing me.

I should hate myself toward the end of the hour when I was as calm as I could be after what I witnessed and felt. My body seemed to act on its own when I clung to him as he made to leave. My tongue and voice conspired against me when I whispered, “Don’t leave. Please. I don’t want to be alone right now.”

I should not have found his embrace comforting. At all. I should not have been frightened enough to desire kissing him.

I shouldn’t have given into that desire and kiss him anyway. I should not have welcomed his touch…Should not have been _aroused_ by his touch and yearn for more.

My fingers clawed at his broad shoulders. He was heavy for me, compressing me into the couch as he kissed my lips. He rocked into me, thumb gently stroking the curve of my ear and I moaned, hands moving to hold the back of his neck.

“Not here,” I groan. “The bedroom…Sauron…”

“Still so respectable. Do you wish to not be seen, my precious? Do you not want to be displayed, beautiful though you are? I would have them see you and worship you for the god you are, my love.”

“I wouldn’t!” I snap, breaking away. “I am not a trophy to be seen.”

Sauron pulled me back into his arms before standing and carrying me to the bedroom. The door clicked shut behind him.

“Better?” he asked.

“Much,” I admit as I’m laid onto the bed.

One hand pins my arms above my head while the other coaxes my legs apart, massaging my cock. I whimper, wondering if I’d be able to take him in if it came to it. My hips thrust into his hand. He hisses in a breath, releasing my arms to pull my trousers down. I sit up before he seizes my hips. His fire-red eyes burn into me, sticking his tongue out and licking my cock.

I grip the sheets beneath me, watching him with my eyes wide open. His mouth closes around my length, kissing it. His tongue stroke the underside of my cock and moves up it until the head is all that resides in his mouth. I feel his tongue press into the slit, teasing me. His hands move down from my hips to my thighs, pushing my legs up and over his shoulders. My arms shake as he takes me in again, sucking me in. His mirthful eyes never leave mine. His hand cups my sack, squeezing gently and moves past stroking the perineum. His finger rubs against my hole.

I have lost.


	5. Chapter 5

_The door to Bag End opens, showing me the hall of Minas Morgul. I follow it. Pippin is leaning against a door. He waves at me, beckoning me to follow._

_I follow. The stairs wind down into a cellar. It is Aragorn. He presses his finger to his lips, pushing at a door. It’s too small for him, but I can crawl through. He pushes me through and I crawl in the space. There is a light at the end of the tunnel._

_When I stand again, I’m in a forest. I don’t know how the whole Fellowship arrived there, but they are smiling at me. A hobbit who seems about my age, embraces me. I know it is Bilbo._

_“Come home, Frodo…”_

I open my eyes and the dream…

What _did_ I dream about? I don’t remember what I dreamt about, but it was peaceful…A miracle considering how afraid I was to fall asleep.

A long arm is draped over me and the other arm is my pillow. I sit up.

Sauron is asleep beside me. It is hard to remember that he is the Dark Lord when he sleeps. He seems innocent when his eyes are closed and mouth slightly parted. I wonder if he trusts enough people to feel safe enough to sleep. I doubt it and I feel…happy that he trusts me enough to sleep beside me.

I shift so I can kiss him easier. My hands run through his hair. I know he is awake when he returns the kiss, nipping my lip and shifting to lie on his back, pulling me on top of him. I kiss his chest. His fingers thread through my hair and massage my scalp.

“Are you well?” he asks.

I look up, meeting his gaze.

“You woke twice in the night, screaming.”

“I don’t remember. I feel okay.”

Sauron’s hand moves to my cheek. His thumb caresses my cheek bone.

“Good.”

“I still want to leave…” I admit. “To at least visit Bilbo’s grave. And I’ll come back.”

“You aren’t going anywhere outside this palace alone.”

“I don’t have to go alone. You could come with me. Or give me a guard if you cannot come, just…can I please go pay respects to my uncle?”

Sauron’s thumb moves to my lips, tracing the shape of my mouth.

“Very well,” he says. “We will go to Rivendell and visit Bilbo. We will leave in four days.”

I smile, leaning down to kiss him again. His hands grip my thighs, pressing circles into the skin. His grip tightens, nails digging into me. I whimper when the pain starts to get a little much, but instead of getting him to lighten up it spurs him on. I try to break away, but he’s stronger. I pull away.

“Sauron, stop.”

He growls, biting my neck.

“Sauron, _stop_!”

I slam my foot into his ribs, taking the opportunity when he’s hunched over to get off the bed. My legs throb, and a touch to them tells me there’s scratches, but no blood. There will be bruises later. Next is my neck. No blood has been drawn, but it still throbs.

“Frodo?”

I glance at him. He seems confused rather than angry. I thought he’d be furious with me. He reaches out for me and I flinch involuntarily. He draws back, eyes shifting to my neck. His confusion melts away as he realizes why I pulled away, leaving something akin to sorrow.

“I’m sorry, Precious.”

“Just…be gentler,” I say, sighing. “I don’t like pain. I’m not as big as anyone else you may have had before and I’m not as sturdy as a Dwarf.”

If he means to say anything more, he doesn’t, interrupted by a knock at the door. He scowls, dressing quickly while I wrap myself in the blanket, not interested in doing anything but be in bed. The vision I had yesterday runs through my head and shudder.

I still feel the fire if I think on it too long. The servant speaks in the Black Tongue and Sauron leaves, closing the door behind him. I lay back down and I feel a weight tied to my heart.

_What am I doing? One moment of mercy should not be enough to make him change in my mind. A vision of what could have happened to me should not have made me so fearful…_

_But what if what I saw was exactly what could happen to me?_

_I miss Bilbo._

At least, if Bilbo were around, he’d have some advice for me. He always knew exactly what to say to me, no matter what the situation.

Resigned, I get up and don a robe, deciding to do something useful with my time.

#

The woman presses against a rock, peering behind it to see the Orcs marching northward toward Erebor. It would only be a matter of time before the northern defenses fell. She made note that word must be sent to Thorin, Galion, and Thranduil before heading back into forest.

No one dared come here. Not after the Ents destroyed Isengard did anyone come.

She skidded to a halt at Treebeard’s Hill.

“Gandalf,” she said. “They’re headed north. They mean to take Mirkwood, Dale, and Erebor.”

“Thank you, Eowyn,” Gandalf said.

She caught bread tossed at her by Elladan. “Now what? We haven’t an army to fight them with.”

Gandalf nodded.

“No, but that triumvirate will hold them off well enough when the army gets there. Simply long enough for the last of the Elves to evacuate the Hobbits. The Shire will long be empty by the time the Orcs of Mordor reach it. Our only focus should be on Frodo.”

Eowyn nodded, tearing a piece of bread off with her fingers and sharing it with a raven.

“I do not believe Thranduil will be willing to help,” Elladan said. “The quest took his son’s life. I’m sure he’s resentful—”

“Frodo is innocent,” Gandalf barked, looming over him. “The Ring was treacherous and while what happened that day is a tragedy, so long as he lives, there is hope. Any who desires the Ring Bearer’s blood will go through me.”

“I am with you, Mithrandir,” Elladan said. “I am only saying what most here know those who have not joined the _Laithagwaith*_ are thinking. We are with Frodo. If he lives, we will find a way to rescue him.” He shifted where he sat. “I only wish we had my kinsman here. I do not know if I can do this…”

“You’re doing well enough,” Faramir said, approaching. Sandwiched between him and Elrohir was a struggling Orc whose head had been covered by a bag, bound in chains. “You’ve a lot to live up to, being the eldest son of Elrond. Could be worse. You’re father could have been like mine.”

“Must you?” Eowyn snapped, glaring at her fiancé.

“Am I not allowed to joke?” Faramir bit back.

“I’m okay with it,” Elrohir said, shoving the Orc to the ground. “We need as much humor as we can get, dark or light. Besides, your father was real Orc.”

“He lost his mind.”

“He tried to kill you.”

“He thought I was dead. My brother already had died and he was still mourning Boromir. Thinking you’ve lost your whole family would _have_ to do something terrible to someone’s sanity. It did to him.”

“You don’t have to defend your father.”

“I’m not,” Faramir sighed. “I simply understand him a little better. That doesn’t make what he did right. Anyway, we brought you a gift, Gandalf.”

Elrohir yanked the bag off the Orc’s head. The creature hissed, baring his fangs at the group, despite being restrained by Faramir and Elrohir, he tried to attack, only to be forced back to his knees, tearing at his chains.

“You won’t get free. Your bonds are of Elfish make,” Gandalf said.

The Orc continued his hissing, eyes shifting to each member of the company.

“Is Frodo alive? Is the Ring Bearer alive?”

“Ring Bearer?” The Orc asked, tilting his head to the side. He laughed. “He probably doesn’t even remember his own name anymore. Strong one, he is. Everyone I know is taking bets on how long the Dark Lord will keep up his games with the Halfling. Neither beating nor starving has yet claimed his life, so the Dark Lord is using him for his own games.”

“But he lives.”

“Oh he lives. Lives the life of a fanciful whore, locked up like a bird in a pretty cage and sings at the snap of the Dark Lord’s fingers.”

“Frodo would _never_ —” Faramir growled. Gandalf held his hand up. “He’s lying!”

“He is not.”

“I’ve met Frodo. He’d not give into Sauron regardless of the tortures he goes through.”

“Frodo is strong, but his strength has waned. Whatever Sauron is using him for, I fear for him.”

“Then we must save him.”

“There is no way into Mordor—”

“He doesn’t want to be saved. And even if he does, it’s too late. You’re precious Halfling is terrified of what awaits him beyond the Black Gate. Too many want him dead. You’re selfless savior is a coward.”

“Elladan?”

“Yes?”

“Can you read his mind?”

“I can try.” He stood and stared into the Orc’s eyes. When he stood, his head was bowed. “Mithrandir, he speaks the truth. Frodo won’t be seduced to the dark side, but Sauron may have convinced him he’s not as evil as he seems. There may be rumors that Frodo could become Sauron’s consort, but…there is hope: we need not go to Mordor to rescue him.”

Elladan glanced around the group.

“If we can ambush them, we can do so in Rivendell and save Frodo when they visit Bilbo.”

“Is that everything?”

“Yes.”

Elrohir drew his sword, slicing the Orc’s head off. “Time to go home,” he muttered, wiping his sword clean of blood on the corpse. “Wonderful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Laithagwaith=Resitance (lit) free people  
>  Made from Angelfire English to Elfish translator


	6. Chapter 6

He is trying to be gentler with me and I appreciate it. I still ache horribly after our lovemaking, but I attribute it to the difference in our sizes. I can bear the pain for the most part, but moving has become a little difficult.

Most days, it is hard to ride. The horse’s movements send sharp rips of pain through my lower body.

“We make camp here tonight,” Sauron ordered the captain, who set out barking orders at our guard. He helps me off. “Are you well, Precious?”

“A bit sore,” I admit. “I’ll manage.”

Sauron curses, refusing to set me on the ground. “I _knew_ I should have gotten you a carriage.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” I said, kissing him. “Now set me down, Love.”

Sauron obeys and I regret it. The earth is sick. I can feel it. But I don’t want to be carried, so I will contend with this diseased land.

Our tent is already being set up for the night and I aim to get a little more sleep if at all possible.

“Are you _sure_ you are well?”

I glare at him. “I am _fine_ , Sauron. This land is _not_.”

“We are near Mirkwood Forest now, on the borders of Rohan,” he tells me. “It will be another few months before we reach Rivendell. I cannot do anything for the forest and we cannot go anywhere tonight. You will simply have to find a way to contend with it.”

“Very well,” I sigh. I’d rather we keep going, but there really is no point in arguing with Sauron once his mind is made up. I wait for the servants to leave the tent before I enter. The bed rolls are soft and plush atop thin mattresses that can be rolled up and carried. I lay down within it, glad that my feet could not touch the poisoned ground.

Legolas was from Mirkwood. This is— _was_ —his home. I wonder how he could stand to live here? Or did he live in a part of the forest that was not sick? I can’t fathom him staying here willingly.

What would the Elf prince think of me now if he could see me? Would he be angry? He always seemed so kind and understanding, but I think there would be nothing but disappointment in his eyes if he were to know I was here with Sauron…

He would wonder what I was thinking, letting him bed me and kiss me as a lover…

_Why am I letting him into my heart and my mind as though we really are lovers? Sauron might be right about the world’s attitude toward me, but that doesn’t change who he is…_

A hand touches my shoulder and I look up. Sauron stares at me. “Why are you crying?”

“I…I just…”

He cups my cheek and understanding lights his face. “It is normal to miss a friend. He would not understand our love, Frodo, and you are correct to assume that he would question it.” He pressed his hand to my chest. “Do you love me? Do you doubt what we have?”

I take his hand in both of mine, kissing his fingers. “No. I do not doubt us,” I assure him. “I love you with all my heart.”

He kisses my lips, lying on top of me, mindful not to crush me. His hands are warm, the heat trapped in his gloves now free entice my skin beneath the tunic I had been given. The shirt slips over my head and his lips move downward over my chest. His hands pin me to the bed as Sauron kisses my nipples, lathing one with attention and then moving to the other.

I close my eyes, relaxing into his touch, allowing my body to thrum with arousal.

His fingers curl under my trousers, tugging them off and they are tossed to the side. I open my eyes, watching him. I spread my legs, gladdened by his smile. His finger rubs against my hole, un-oiled. It’s gentle, barely a touch. Yet I wince and suck in my breath.

“Have you been in pain?”

“A little. It hurts most when I’m on the horse.” He doesn’t respond. I worry I’ve angered him, though his face is unreadable. “Sauron?”

“Hush, my Precious,” he whispers, standing. I watch him, shivering in the cold. He pours water in a basin. He returns, setting it down beside the bed. “Turn onto your stomach.”

I obey, propped onto my knees and my head buried between my elbows. I hiss when wet linen presses against the entrance. It’s not _very_ cold, but it’s cool and shivers run through my body. The linen is removed, replaced by hands spreading the clefts apart. Hot air blows against my ass and I shudder, crying out at the touch of a tongue against the hole.

I try to move away, but he holds me in place. I try to tell him to stop because it _cannot_ be sanitary, but all that escapes my mouth are moans. His tongue lathes my entrance and plunges inside me, and out. I am shamed and also I am aroused in my humiliation, clenching around his tongue.

My body reacts on its own and I _need_ relief. I balance on one arm, reaching with the other. Sauron pulls out, seizing my hand.

“No. You are not to cum, my love.”

“Please…”

“ _No_.” He snaps his fingers, pinning my wrists together, and rope slides toward us. It binds my hands.

I whine, biting the sheets. Sauron swipes that sinful tongue over my ear.

“Do _not_ cum until I say so.”

I nod, shifting my hips to brush against his groin. He chuckles, seizing my hips and pressing them against him. “Even in your pain you long for me to make you scream?” He thrusts, the fabric of his pants are rough against my ass.

“Yes.”

He pauses, kissing my ear again. He grinds me, nails digging into my skin.

“I love your voice, my Precious. I love it when you scream my name in your pleasure until you are hoarse and your energy gives out and you lie limp, waiting for me to finish. You love how I seem capable of nearly tearing you in half. I’ve no intention of damaging you, my love. No. I wish to make you blind in ecstasy. To make you feel as you’ve never felt before.”

“Sauron…Sauron please…I need…”

I don’t know how much longer I can hold my orgasm at bay.

The grinding stops. His hand seizes my hair, pulling me up to my knees. I hear rustling, and then I’m turned around. He holds his cock out for me.

“You are not to cum until I say so,” he commands. I nod, resigned, and lean down.

I wish my hands were free to guide him into my mouth. Still I manage to stretch my lips around the head. Sauron’s grip on my hair lessens, massaging my abused scalp. I press the tip of my tongue into his slit, sucking my cheeks in.

“Fuck…”

I swallow more of him down, inching his cock deeper into my mouth.

“Back up, my love,” Sauron groans.

I obey. The tip is still in my mouth when his hot, bitter seed spills into my mouth. I swallow as much as I can. What does not make it down my throat spills out my lips, dripping down my chin. I pull off him, drinking what was left over.

His thumb wipes what past my lips and my tongue licks the appendage clean.

“Stand,” he commands.

I get to my feet. His hand reaches out, caressing my cock—thick and red from neglect—weighing it in his hand. He snaps his fingers and my bonds fall free. I rub the raw skin as Sauron selects a vial of oil and uncorks it. The scent of lavender wafts past my nose. He drips the oil over my cock, drenching it before leaning back, eyes staring at me with raw hunger.

“Bring yourself to climax.”

I lower my hands, teasing my cock with light touches before stroking myself with more surety. My spine snaps rigid and a choked cry is lodged in my throat as my seed spurts over my hands and chest. Some drops stain my feet.

Sauron catches me before my legs give out. “Beautiful,” he whispers, raising my hand to his mouth and sucking them clean. “Feeling better?”

I nod. My breathing is heavy. My eyelids are heavy and my mind blank. But I feel limp and more relaxed than I’ve been in a long time. I’m laid down on the bed and more linen is dipped in water. I shiver at the cold water cleaning me, but it is gone before I can manage a complaint, pulled into Sauron’s embrace.

“Sleep,” he whispers, petting my hair. “Sleep, my love.” And I sleep, free of worry and doubt. And ultimately free of guilt…

I am kissed awake. My body feels heavy, as though pressed on by an invisible weight. I burrow further into Sauron’s chest, breathing in the strong scent of lavender and sweat.

“Frodo.”

“Five more minutes,” I beg.

Sauron pulls away, kissing my forehead again before wrapping me tightly into the fur blankets. “I’ll bring you breakfast.”

“M’kay.”

I pull the covers over my head, trying to relish the last bits of sleep I still have available to me before I must get up and step into the cold and face the long ride we must do today in this dreadful forest.

The peace I feel is cut short at the sound of orcs roaring. I sit up, the chill engulfing me. I shudder, grabbing my clothes. Once dressed in venture outside—

Sauron shoves me back inside. “Stay inside!” he shout

I almost argue, reaching for my waist. Only then do I remember that Sting is back in Mordor. I bite my lip, deciding to go outside anyway.

Just to see what’s going on.

Sauron has not noticed my rebellious act, fighting alongside his Orcs against a battalion of Elves. How many of them knew Legolas?

I wonder.

An Elf appears before me, smiling. The smile is twisted. I back away. “Come with us,” he said. “You’ll be safe—”

_It gets too hot to bear. The hair on my feet burn first as do the soles. Fire licks at my legs and the gown catches fire…_

“STAY AWAY!!!” I shout, backing into the tent. A Morgul sword rips through the tartan fabric, stained in blood. It recedes and I hear a thud.

“Frodo?”

“I’m all right,” I say. Sauron enters, dropping his sword. “I’m all right.”

“You’re shaking.”

“How can I not?!” He hushes me, lifting me into his arms and petting my hair. “I’m not a child.”

“I know. It is simply easier to carry you, Precious,” Sauron whispers. “A team will stay to clear the dead. We are leaving _now_.”

“Good.”


	7. Chapter 7

The captives stood on their knees in a line behind the Dark Lord’s camp, heads held high. They were stripped of their armor, hands tied behind their backs, chests exposed to the air.

“What did you do to him?” One Elf demanded.

The Orcs laughed, and none answered him. A scout climbed down the trees. “The order’s been given,” he said. “They’re moving out.”

“Arrows ready!”

The orcs raised their bows, string taut and aimed at Elfish hearts.

“Fire!”

The arrows had not far to travel, piercing through the captives’ chests and through their backs. One by one, they fell to the ground, blood seeping from their wounds. The Elf who spoke, as the light left his eyes, saw and Orc stand over him, sword raised high.

 

#

I had not ventured onto the Great East road before. On the way to Mordor I kept off the path by Gandalf’s insistence and that path was hidden from prying eyes. The Road was clear and open. It frightens me and I pressed my back inot Sauron’s torso. Sauron’s arm wrapped around me.

“You are safe with me,” he reminded me. “I won’t let you be harmed.” I nodd, relaxing a little, but reluctant to let my lover’s hand go.

“How much longer will it be?”

“Another few days, at best,” Sauron said. “There has only been one attack, my love and late in our journey.”

“One too many,” I mutter.

Sauron kissed the top of my head, squeezing my shoulder. “You are safe and you are with me. Nothing bad will happen, Frodo. You have my word.”

The day passed uneventfully, to my relief. We camped at an old house, long abandoned.

“It once belonged to a Skin-Changer,” Sauron said, “Died long ago, same as his kin.”

“Do you know his name,” I ask, staring at the designs on the wood. Animals: bears, lions, bees, dogs, sheep, rabbits…

“Beorn,” Sauron replied, “The very one from Bilbo’s stories.”

I do not answer. Tracing the wood.

 _What am I doing? What is wrong with me? He’s_ Sauron _! What have I done?_

“Frodo?” I backed away from the wood and Sauron steadied me.

“Let me go!” I shout. “Let go of me!”

Sauron spun me around and kissed me fiercely, nearly lifting me off the ground. His tongue pried between my teeth, demanding dominance. My mind went blank and my struggle ceased. Sauron set me down.

“What happened?” I asked, holding my head.

“You had a panic attack,” Sauron said, kneeling. “What did you see?”

I bit my lip, furrowing my brow. “Gollum. Lunging at me. We fought and I threw him down off a ledge. Is he dead?”

“Not from that fall, but yes. Sam ran him through on Mt. Doom, remember?”

I nod, remembering. Sauron cupped my cheek. “Is your head all right?”

“It hurts a little.”

He kissed my forehead. “Lie down, Precious. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

I lay on the ground. Sauron lay beside me, an arm wrapped around me.

“We’ll be at the mountain foot of the Misty Mountains in three days,” Sauron whispered in my ear. “From there, we pass through Goblin Town and we’ll be in Rivendell within another week. Sleep, my love. I will be here when you wake.”

I closed his eyes and drifted into a peaceful sleep…

_“What are you doing?”_

_I open my eyes and look up. Bilbo stared at me, sitting on one of the large chairs. I got up, shivering from the cold. “Bilbo? Are you here?”_

_“This is a dream, my boy. It is rare for a spirit to directly talk to a person in a dream, but it seems you need some help, so, naturally, the Valar thought to send me back to this world to help you.”_

_“I don’t need help, Sauron—”_

_“Is deluding you. He has you under a spell and you know this deep down somewhere.” Bilbo stood, jumping from the chair and staring at the designs. “I’ve not been here in years! Too bad I never made it back this way in life.”_

_“What do you mean he has me under a spell? He loves me, Bilbo. And I love him.”_

_Bilbo sighed. “Frodo, my lad, he doesn’t know_ how _to love? Love does not require magic. Love_ is _magic in of itself. I have seen it work and I have seen it fail in all my years in the living world. Which, if you remember, is significantly more than your own years. If he loves you, why does he trick you into thinking I would be disappointed with your failure? Frodo, you must know that there is nothing you can do that would make me stop loving you. Why does he make you think that if you leave, you’ll be killed by the very people who are trying to rescue you?”_

_I stood beside Bilbo. “They want to kill me.”_

_“No, Frodo. They don’t. They knew the Ring was treacherous and I wish to all the powers that be that I never picked it up that day in Gollum’s Cave. More so I wish Isildur destroyed it when he had the chance, weak Man! Look what his actions have done!”_

_Bilbo sighed, patting my cheek. “Someone is coming to help you get away from Sauron. Trust the Laithagwaith. They can help you fight again. You are not the only living member of the Fellowship yet.”_

_“He will not forgive me.”_

_“Gandalf knew that failure could happen at a moment. And you know when that moment was. After all, sparing Gollum was the best decision I could have made in all my life.”_

I woke to someone shaking me gently. A kiss pressed against my cheek. “Are you hungry, love?” Sauron asked. I hummed trying to hide from the sunlight streaming into the room. “It’s time to get up.”

“Liar.”

“What?”

“It’s too early to get up.”

Sauron laughed, kissing me again. “Breakfast will be ready shortly, my precious.” He stood and left me to wake on my own. I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling and pondering the vanishing dream. Only one word remained.

_Laithagwaith._

_What is Laithagwaith?_

I stand and joined Sauron at the large table, climbing onto the chair and piling a plate with eggs and two slices of ham with milk to drink.

“You were sleeping deeply. Did you dream?”

“Yes, but I don’t remember it.”

“Pity,” Sauron said. He leaned on the table, staring at me. “I’d like to know what you dream about, my love.”

I shrugged. “Things I don’t remember in the morning, I’m afraid. I will try to tell you sometime, if the memory stays with me. How far do you intend for us to go today?”

“I am hoping we will be able to make camp tonight at the Old Ford,” Sauron said. “It may be a bit hard pressed, but I am confident we can make it if we press hard enough.” I nod, cleaning my plate.

The calm eases me now, where it frightened me yesterday. The likelihood of attack was slim. And Elves are wont to attack Orcs.

I figured it was likely they didn’t know who he was—but that _smile_.

We reached the base of the Old Ford and set camp, it was close enough for Sauron’s liking and the sun was beginning to descend. Dinner was hunted down and three does and a stag were brought back to camp to be roasted like a feast.

After a rowdy feast, I leaned against Sauron, eyes closed as Sauron’s fingers massaged my scalp. I opened them when footsteps approached us. A woman was forced to her knees before us.

“The woman sneaked in,” the Orc growled, his hand tangled in her golden hair. “Shall I kill her, my lord?”

“No!” she shrieked. “Please, my lord! I am an outcast and seek refuge! Please, my lord, spare this wretch your wrath! I am with child, my lord!”

“Liar!” The Orc roared.

Sauron held his hand up and stood, touching her stomach. “She speaks the truth. She is with child and bears no mark of marriage. Is this why you were outcast?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Sauron hummed, circling her. “What is your name?”

“Tinra,” she said, “daughter of Kelus.”

“Sauron, if she is with child, then she is no threat,” I said, pitying her. “Let her stay until we find her a safe place to live for her and the baby.”

Tinra looked from me to Sauron.

“Do you wish it, my love?” Sauron asked.

I nod.

“Get her a spare bed roll and some food,” Sauron ordered. “Kharag, you guard her. She is not to be harmed or harassed.”

“Yes, my lord,” Kharag sneered, releasing her hair and lifting her up by her arm.

He sent me a glare, but said no more, leading Tinra to a fire pit. The Orcs stared at her and sneered, laughing when she cringed, but they did not harm her. Kharag cut her a piece of venison and she ate.

“Thank you, Sauron,” I said, “For sparing her.”

“Of course, my precious,” Sauron said, kissing me. “After you’re finished eating, we will retire. Will that be favorable?”

“Yes.”

 

#

Kharag led her to two bedrolls.

“Sleep,” he commanded, pointing at the one closest to them. Eowyn climbed into the bedroll obediently and closed her eyes. She wished she had her sword with her. When Kharag had gone, she opened her eyes and stared at the tent where Frodo followed Sauron into.

She touched her stomach. The potion Gandalf gave her worked better than expected. She half feared Sauron would be able to tell the difference between a real pregnancy and a fake one.

Regardless, it worked. And she was in the camp.

But she still pondered how she was going to get close enough to Frodo and get him to trust her long enough to rescue him.


	8. Chapter 8

Tinra knelt on the ground, clutching her stomach. She did not see me rush to her aid, pulling her hair out of the way as she vomited early that morning.

“Oh…”

“Kharag!” I shout, “Fetch a spare waterskin.” Kharag obeyed, stalking off.  I pat Tinra’s back. “You’ll be okay.”

“Oh spare me your assurances!” Tinra spat. I was slightly startled, but thought nothing of it, deciding her attitude in the morning was to be expected due to her pregnancy. “I am sorry, my lord. I do not mean disrespect.”

“Women of my people are the same,” I admit. “Pregnancy must be horrid.”

“Oh, indeed it is the worst! I curse the babe’s father!”

 _So she should_ , I thought. Abandoning her and the child the way he did was far from honorable and I can’t fathom why anyone would abandon a pregnant woman!

Bilbo and I never did when one of the girls from down the lane showed up pregnant and ostracized by her family for a bit. Bilbo had plenty of room in Bag End and he opened the house to her during that time, offering her aid and properly scolding her parents for it until she was allowed home again.

He also had some words with the father and there was eventually a wedding that summer.

Regardless whether the parents were married or not, children were a blessing!

All this I told Tinra, who laughed.

“Your uncle sounds wonderful.”

“He was,” I admit. “He passed recently.”

“I am sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you.”

Kharag returned, handing the filled waterskin to me, and I gave it to Tinra. She rinsed her mouth and drank several gulps.

“Do you think you can eat? I’m afraid we can’t cater to your cravings, but we will have some food available to you.”

“I’ll eat when the smell is not so strong,” she said, braiding her hair with shaking hands. I nod my understanding, heading to fill a bag with left over strips of venison from the night before.

Sauron approached me, leading his horse. “Frodo, we move out.”

“All right.”

 He did not go to the front of the line.

I looked up. “I’ll be in the back with Tinra.”

“Why?”

I frown. “Sauron, she’s pregnant. As good a soldier as Kharag is, I doubt he’ll be patient with her enough to know when to stop when the horse jostles her too much and she needs to vomit again!”

“You are safer in the front.”

“Again, Kharag will be sufficient for us both. I will see you when we stop for dinner. All right?”

Sauron snarled and I met his glare unwaveringly.

“I will be safe. I promise.”

“I would feel better if you rode up front.”

“And you will insist that Tinra be in the back of the line, I suppose? Why does it matter where I am? She needs a caretaker, not an Orc protector. Orcs are good soldiers, but they’re too rough. I will not argue more on this Sauron, I’m riding in the back.”

Sauron huffed and moved ahead, snapping orders in Orcish. I tied the bag and returned to Tinra and Kharag, who were approached by another Orc.

“What is this?” I asked.

“The Dark Lord sent me, my lord,” the Orc said, lifting me onto the horse. He didn’t look happy to be in the back of the line, but still bowed.

“What is your name?”

“Urulg, my lord,” Urulg sneered, barring his fangs. I allowed it, knowing this was the only compromise I would be able to make with Sauron on the matter.

Kharag and Urulg growled at each other in Orcish through the whole ride.

“Thank you,” Tinra said. “For staying. Kharag has been…kind, I guess, for an Orc.” Kharag hissed at her at her mention of him. Tinra paid it no mind, not even flinching. “But I fear to be alone with him.”

“I thought you might be,” I said. “Normally, I’d ride up front with Sauron, but…”

“Are you his husband?”

“We are lovers, but our courtship began recently.”

“Why? Is he not the dark lord?”

“Yes, but he is kind when it suits him. And he listens to me, if anything else.”

Tinra hummed. “Is there something to eat?”

I hand her the bag.

She thanked me, eating the jerky eagerly. “Could you tell me more about your uncle? I apologize if it is rude to ask…”

“No! Of course.”

I spent the next few hours telling her about Bilbo’s adventures and a few stories from my own memories of Bilbo. Tinra listened raptly.

We stopped when her stomach flipped again so that she may regurgitate.

Around noon, I overheard Kharag and Urulg complaining about their task at “babysitting us” and shot them a glare. They ignored me for the most part, but held their tongues after.

We stopped nearly halfway to the Misty Mountains where the camp had been set up. Torches were lit already and dinner passed around.

I apologized to Tinra for having to leave, but promised to ride with her again the next day.

I kissed Sauron hello and we ate. The whole time, Sauron seemed distracted, uninterested in my account of events of the day. It worried me, but I decided it we would talk in the tent instead.

“Does something bother you, Sauron?” I asked at my first chance when we were going to bed.

 “You need not care for her, Frodo,” Sauron said, lying beside me. “I feel better when you are close by.”

“I know, but I am fine. Kharag and Urulg are doing their jobs marvelously!”

“They are two of the best soldiers we have in our midst. I trust them, but that does not relieve my worries.”

“She is pregnant,” I remind him, lying on his chest. “She is bound to slow us down and I don’t see why that would be a problem. Bilbo is dead. He’s not going anywhere. There is no need to rush.”

Sauron sighed. “Do you think her beautiful?”

I lift his head. “Are you jealous?”

“Should I not be?”

“You’d be a fool if you are!” I huffed, kissing him. “She is beautiful, but I’m not lying by her side and both Kharag and Urulg can bear witness that the most I do with her is hold her hair back when she vomits and talk with her. Today we talked about Bilbo, tomorrow I hope to learn more about her. I can’t say that my people were any better when a girl ended up pregnant outside of wedlock, but it remains to be cruel. I for one refuse to let a supposedly ill-advised action rule my opinion of Tinra and she could do with a little kindness in such a cruel circumstance. Would you begrudge me of that?”

“Never, Precious,” Sauron said, rolling us over and pressing his hips against min. “You are far too kind, my love.”

I sit up, pulling my tunic off.

Sauron leans in, kissing a nipple and teasing it, easing me back down, a hand slipping beneath my trousers to cup my cock. My eyes flutter closed as I am stripped of my clothes.

Sauron trails his lips downward to my crotch, gently rubbing circles into my skin.

I ran my fingers through Sauron’s hair as my cock was teased with lips and tongue. My toes curled as I’m taken into Sauron’s mouth.

A long finger rubs against my perineum and to the puckered skin around my entrance. I groan when Sauron releases me, kissing the tip, and reaches for a vial, drenching his hand in oil before, sliding two fingers into me easily, probing.

I arched my back, crying out, when the familiar shock of pleasure rakes through my body. I move my body in tandem with Sauron’s fingers, clawing at broad, pale shoulders.

“Do you love me, Frodo?”

“I love you,” I rasped, gasping again at a strong jolt that left him shuddering. “ _Adore_ you, my Lord.”

The fingers pulled out. I watched Sauron coat his cock in oil.

I spread my legs a little wider, never taking my eyes off the fierce red ones bearing into my soul. Sauron eased slowly inside, massaging my hips and kissing me as he picked up a steady rhythm, swallowing my moans.

I whine, locking my arms around my beloved’s neck, returning each kiss eagerly. My cock rubs against Sauron’s stomach, sending a fire through my body.

Sauron broke the hungry kiss.

“Come for me,” he demanded, shifting his hips and quickening his tempo. “Come for me, my love.”

My back arched again and nails dug into Sauron’s skin, mouth open in a silent scream as I spent himself, staining both our torsos.

As I came down from his climax, I felt Sauron achieve his, pressing his forehead to mine, and panting as he came within me. I sighed when he pulled out.

“Feel better, Beloved?” I asked as Sauron dampened a cloth.

Sauron hummed, kissing me when he returned. “A bit.”

I huffed. “Sauron, look at me.”

He did so, hand pausing on my stomach.

I cupped his cheek in my hand. “I love _you_ , you oaf. Am I not allowed to befriend a girl who needs our help? Would you deny me that? Have I done something that would demand your suspicion?”

Sauron blinked. He kissed the vein of my wrist. “You have not,” he admitted. “I am sorry, Precious,” he whispered. “Trust, it seems, still does not come easily to me.”

“Well, you can _trust_ me, if nothing else. Okay?” Sauron nodded and I kissed him. Once we were both cleaned, Sauron lay his head on my breast, drifting to sleep to the sound of my heartbeat.


	9. Chapter 9

“I had traveled South from Esgaroth,” Tinra said, weaving a new braid into her hair. “My father is a fisherman, though I suppose he would not recognize me as his daughter anymore…”

I pat her hand. “If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s okay. You don’t have to.”

Tinra smiles. “I miss my family. That is all. I’ve no one to blame but myself.”

“No one is to blame,” I say. “As I said, children are a blessing, regardless how they are born. A child’s legitimacy is just a sort of formality that people assume to be natural. It’s foolish. Besides, your baby has a fine mother.”

She placed her hand over her stomach. “I don’t know if I can be a mother alone. The world has become a harsher place, my lord,” Tinra admitted.

“You have my support,” Frodo said. “That probably counts for something.”

“It would not make me popular with others, being favored by the Dark Lord’s consort.”

Frodo shrugged. “Regardless, you have help. So long as you and your child are cared for, does it matter where the help comes from?”

Tinra doesn’t answer. We ride in silence for a few minutes before she gasps, demanding we stop. Kharag helps her down and she collapses to her feet. I jump off the horse, pulling her hair out of her face. “Urulg, the water!”

A waterskin is tossed my way and I catch it. Tinra coughs, heaving bile onto the ground. The scent makes my eyes sting and my stomach flip. For a moment, I feel I might also vomit. I hand her the skin when she’s finished rubbing her back.

Kharag helps her back up, firmly supporting her. She’s pale and shaking. Her forehead gleams with sweat.

“What is wrong?” he asks. “Should I send for a healer?”

That is new. I blink at him, trying to understand his sudden concern. “No,” Tinra says, “It’s just the baby.”

“Seems more like a parasite to me,” Urulg mutters. I glare at the back of his head.

“A mother’s body adjusts to the changes to adapt to caring for _two_ rather than one,” I snap.

Urulg turned to me, snarling.

“Everything her body does from the moment of conception onward is for the care and safety of her child, _who_ is completely dependent on her until adulthood.” My voice is lowered to a growl. “A _parasite_ who causes these reactions aims to kill. There is no similarities between a baby and a parasite.”

Urulg walks beside Kharag in silence after that, shoulders tense. Kharag is just as silent and perhaps more tense. Tinra keeps massaging her stomach as though in fear someone might punch her gut and kill her child. It, sadly, is possible. I can’t imagine being around Orcs helps her nerves even with my assurances that she is safe here.

Sometimes I don’t believe that I’m safe here. But I’m safer among the Mordorians than anywhere else.

Staring at my hands gripping the horse’s reins, I wonder how _that_ makes sense. Am I not in the presence of evil? Have I become evil in keeping a relationship with Sauron?

 

#

The following day brought us up the mountain. Night was coming fast and we were lighting fires to keep warm. “We will get food and shelter at Goblin Town,” Sauron said. “And I will have words with the Great Goblin before we pass through the mountain. Frodo, I would appreciate you and the woman to stay with Kharag and Urulg at all times. I cannot guarantee that the Goblins will not try to harm the both of you.”

I nod my agreement, peering at the map.

“From there we will be three days away from Rivendell,” he said. “And stay at the very least a month or two before making the return journey—”

The screams were deafening, setting my heart into a canter. Sauron seizes his mace, heading outside, where I now can hear the clanging of weapons and death screams. Another raid? Another attack?

“Frodo.”

I turn to see Tinra, furrowing my brow. “How did you get in here without being noticed?” I ask. Tinra presses her finger to her lips. A bag is pulled over my head and a hand claps over my mouth.

“Let’s go!” Tinra shouts.

I claw and kick at the Man carrying me, trying to be heard beneath the sack and the gloved hand over my mouth.

“Eowyn, wait! We need to bind him. He’s slipping from my grasp.”

Slender hands seize my ankles and larger ones still my hands. Rope wraps around my limbs and I’m hoisted onto a shoulder.

The screaming fades.

Warmth leaves me. I’m going to die by the hands of those I was supposed to help…

I’m set down gently and the bag is removed from my head. Tinra is drinking something. When she lowers it, she changes, he hair shines a little more and falls in regal waves. Her round face gains sharper features, more angular. Her round chin gains a cleft and her baby bump flattens.

“Who are you?!” I demand. “What do you want? I didn’t mean to fail! The Ring was too strong—please believe me! I never meant—”

“Tinra” tries to hush me. “It’s okay, we’re friends, Frodo. We’re friends.”

“Friends _don’t_ lie to each other,” I spat.

“It was necessary if I was to succeed,” she said. “But now lies will become truths: My name is Eowyn, daughter of Eomund and Faramir is my betrothed. I am the Queen of Rohan. Or I would be if Rohan had not fallen with my brother who was to be made King.”

“Faramir would have me dead!”

“No, Frodo, all this was our idea,” Eowyn said. “My deceit was only meant to be a means in rescuing you. I know you feel betrayed right now, but please, Frodo, we only mean to help.”

“I’ll get Gandalf,” the Man said.

“Do so,” Eowyn said. He left the tent. Eowyn turned back to him. “I don’t know why you think we’re angry, Frodo, but we aren’t. We knew the Ring could be treacherous enough to overcome you and it did. No one is angry. So long as you are alive, there is hope for our people—”

“THERE IS NO HOPE!!! YOU ONLY WANT TO KILL ME!!!”

“Eowyn, back away.”

Eowyn sighed and obeyed. Gandalf knelt before Frodo, cupping his cheek.

“Gandalf,” Frodo whispered. “Forgive me. Please forgive me.”

“Of course you’re forgiven, Frodo. You were never at fault. If anyone is to blame, it is me for not being with you when you entered Mordor.” He stood, turning to the crowd who had gathered outside. “He is under a spell. It will weaken the longer he is away from Sauron.”

“So his actions right now…” Eowyn trailed off.

“Were he in his right mind, they’d be involuntary,” Gandalf said. “It is a strain of Captive’s Sickness. Given a little time, it will pass. Until the spell wears off, give him space, let him see for himself he is not in danger among us.”

He turned to Frodo again. “Regardless what you think of us right now, Frodo, and regardless what Sauron has told you, we are your friends and we are here to help you if you’ll let us.”

I can’t believe what he has said. But what if they turn on me the moment I begin to trust them. What if the food they bring me is poisoned? What if I were to fall asleep—would they cut my throat then?

 

#

I stare at the food left for me. It smells good and my mouth waters, but I refuse to touch it. I find it hard to believe that they intended to rescue me at all. How could they if they do so through deceit and thievery of a person?

I pick at the dirt covering my toes, wishing for a bath and a good soap to wash the hair on my feet with. If this is just my _feet_ , then what about the rest of my body? When have I last had a proper bath? The night before last? Two nights? I don’t know, but I have grown used to the filth covering me.

Baths have been offered to me, but how am I to know I won’t be drowned once I’m in the water?

I lay on my side, facing the tent flap, scurrying to my feet each time someone enters with food, which is what I do now when it opens and Faramir steps in with two trays. “Hello, Frodo,” he says, setting one of the trays down before me. “May I join you?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does when you aren’t eating.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Now we both know _that_ is a lie. Did you not say once that Hobbits are _always_ hungry?”

“It’s poisoned.”

Faramir sighs. “If yours is poisoned then so is mine,” he said, breaking a piece of bread and popping it into his mouth. “So if I keel over by the time I’m finished, you don’t have to eat and I’m sure Eowyn and Gandalf both will be rather cross with the cook. If not, then it would be in your best interest to eat. It’s been nearly a day, my friend. So even if your people _weren’t_ always hungry, I’d know you’d be hungry anyway.”

“Your logic may be sound save for that these two meals may have been cooked in different pots.”

“They aren’t. I watched the cook to make sure. Plus, I think Elrohir is close to force feeding you if you don’t eat anyway,” Faramir said, smiling.

I did not look at him, or at the food.

“Have you slept?”

“No.” I look at him. “Please let me go. I’m sorry I had—”

“Enough apologies have gone around, I think. Besides, I think us to be friends, Frodo. You believe the Laithagwaith wishes to kill you. The only head we want on a platter is Sauron’s…I’m sorry, I mean only to speak the truth. I mean not to belittle your love for him.”

“You don’t think it’s real though.”

“No,” he admitted. He swallowed the rest of the soup, scraping the bowl with the left over bread and popping it into his mouth. He drowned it with the wine in his cup. “But right now, I guess what’s more important is that _you_ think it is. I won’t try to understand because I don’t, but I have seen the effects of Captive’s Sickness. _That_ I understand. _That_ I do not doubt is real.”

He stretched. “Now, let’s give it a minute and if I’m not dead by then, will you eat?”

I slump my shoulders. “Okay,” I say. “If you’re not dead within a minute, I’ll eat.”

Faramir grinned. “Good. I’d really not have to tell Elrohir that we have to pin you down and force the food into you. Though, would it make you feel better to cook your own meals? I’m sure the cook won’t mind. So long as you’re eating…”

I would not pick up the food until more than a minute passed, eating slowly. “Did you…call this group the ‘Laithagwaith?’”

“I did,” Faramir said. “Why?”

“I’ve heard that name before. I just…I don’t remember where. Perhaps in a dream. I’ve been dreaming a lot but I never remember what it is I’ve been dreaming. They give me peace. Sometimes I think they give me clarity.”

“No ordinary dreams then. Though I would say it’s odd that you don’t remember…it could be the spell Sauron has you under.”

I glare at him. How dare he accuse my beloved of having me under a spell of any kind! “He doesn’t have me under a spell,” I snap, tearing at the bread with my teeth ravenously.

Faramir held his hands up, as though to deflect my offense.

“Okay, okay. But dreams that offer clarity or insight are usually hard to forget…for instance, the night I guess Boromir died, he came to me, asking me if you ever came by Gondor to keep you from Father. The next morning, his corpse sails by me and I forgot about the dream until I met you and Sam. Even then, I refused to listen to it until…well, either way, I wish I had gone with the two of you. I should never have let you go with that skulking creature alone.”

He stood. “I’ll stand guard tonight, so please try to sleep, Frodo. Okay? It’ll be cold tonight, so Eowyn will be by with extra blankets.” He stepped outside.

I pulled my legs up to my chin. I’d feel safer if I was back in my lover’s arms.


	10. Chapter 10

“You’re sure it will fade on its own?” Eowyn asked outside the tent. I stared at the entrance, ears perked and concentrating.

“Within the next few hours,” Gandalf said, “It won’t be long now.”

“I am glad. There is a kindness in him that I feel was left untouched. Or unreached. It baffles me that _anyone_ could want to hurt a people as amiable as Hobbits.”

Gandalf sighed. “I agree, but Sauron is beyond sense or reason. He does not _care_ for innocence. When he sees good, he seeks to corrupt it. It does not matter to him where it comes from or whether he can reach it completely…When Frodo comes to his senses, I worry about what he will do.”

I stopped listening, deciding I had indulged them with his presence long enough. Even though they have not tried to kill me yet, who was to say they’d _not_ try eventually?

The tent opened and a plate of roasted rabbit is placed in front of me. I thanked the guard and ate slowly, alone. No utensils were given, mostly because none were available. Those who had anything used their daggers if they must, but such things tended to be avoided.

 _If I could get my hand on a knife or dagger,_ I thought, _I could get away, find Sauron._

Once I had finished my dinner, and had thanked the guard, I uprooted a tent-stake, crawling under the tartan fabric and keeping to the shadows outside the camp.

I spun around when he heard shouts. My disappearance had been discovered sooner than I thought it’d be.

I swore under his breath and turned to hide behind a—

My vision blurred and I groaned, falling to my knees and holding my splitting head.

_Sauron is deluding you…_

_He doesn’t know_ how _to love. Love does not require magic. Love_ is _magic in of itself…_

_If he loves you, why does he trick you into thinking I would be disappointed with your failure?_

_Trust the Laithagwaith. They can help you fight again…_

_Trust the Laithagwaith…_

_Laithagwaith…_

I shake my head, trying to rid the words from my head. But Bilbo’s voice is loud and it is clear and it is _true_.

“Frodo!”

“ _Frodo_!” A pair of hands pulls me of the ground.

“By the Valar, he’s burning up!”

“Elrohir! Ro, we need you! _Gandalf!!_ ”

“Get him back to the tent!” Gandalf shouted. “ _Now!!_ ”

_Trust the Laithagwaith…_

I shake my head, weeping. I can’t trust them…or I shouldn’t trust them. Once back in the tent, I’m set on the bed and a cool hand touches my forehead and cheek.

“Whatever it is Sauron did to him, his body’s fighting it now,” I look up at the shining figure before me. “You’re okay, Frodo, but you shouldn’t try to run again.”

“If you must kill me, do it fast…please…”

“We aren’t going to kill you. Myself least of all,” the elf said, stroking my cheek. He stood. “Get me athelas!” he demanded. “And a basin of cold water!”

I whined, closing my eyes. My head is splitting and I’m confused. I know where I am, who I’m with, who I should be with, but there’s a sense of…

Relief? Why would I feel relieved?

“What have I done?”

“Shh…we’ll talk about what’s happened over the last few months when you’re well again,” the elf said. “Sleep, Frodo. You are among friends. When you wake, you will know that.”

Groaning once more, I close my eyes and drift into a restless sleep…

#

Golden light filters through my lashes. My eyes barely open.

_Where am I?_

I open my eyes further, waiting for them to focus. A shadow looms over me. “Welcome back to the world of the living, Frodo.”

I blink, forcing my eyes to focus. For a moment, I thought I was looking at Elrond, but his features are slightly softer, a little younger.

“Elledan?”

He laughs. “ _Elrohir_ , actually. Several Elves, my father included, fled Middle Earth when Sauron regained his full strength.”

I close my eyes, sighing. “So it wasn’t a nightmare. I really had failed.”

“You live,” he said. “So there is hope. A small, flicker of a candle type of hope, but hope nonetheless. Sauron failed in snuffing it when he decided to let you live. I’ve no idea why…my best guess is that the Dark Lord, skewed in his reasoning as he is, probably finds himself rather fond of you.”

I scoff. “The bastard tricked me into thinking we love each other.” My chest aches. “I know now that he doesn’t.”

“Well, that’s different. Two days ago, any slander against him made you rather cross.”

“You haven’t seen a Hobbit cross _yet_ , Master Elrohir,” I say, sitting up. “Are my actions during my time…would they be consider my own will or…”

“Yes. They would be. The only thing that he manipulated was trick your mind into believing you were loved and protected while in his…care?”

“That’s one word for it,” I agree. “He locked me away in a model of Bag End. I was given food and was well cared for…in a sense, but before he put that spell on me, he…” I grip my arms. “I suppose the term would be that he abused me.”

Elrohir’s head snapped up. “Did he rape you?”

“No. Hit me a few times. I fought back, but…” I sigh. “He’s stronger.”

“Only on the physical level,” Elrohir assured me. “And he was manipulating you for far longer than the few months of his reign while you carried the ring from the Shire to Mordor. It’s a miracle you lasted as long as you did.”

“Bilbo lasted longer. He had the Ring for _sixty years_ and he was _still_ able to let it go.”

“Not without some difficulty,” Elrohir said. “And you may have been able to hold out just as long were you not made aware of what it was and set out to destroy it. The Ring’s initial goal in making your journey difficult was solely for the sake of survival.”

“He had no use of me after.”

Elrohir handed me a cup and I took it, drinking the water within. “Like I said, Sauron feels something akin to fondness of you. There can’t be any other reason he had let you live when the rest of the Fellowship, save Gandalf, were so brutally executed.”

I shake my head. “I don’t understand why he’d be fond of me at all.”

“No one is really sure,” he admits. “But the synthetic Captive’s Sickness you were under, his refusal to kill you, his desire to cage you…if it didn’t seem so ludicrous, I’d have dared to guess that he loves you.”

“Maybe he does,” I say. “That doesn’t excuse his actions.”

“No. It doesn’t. If he really knew what it means to love, he’d not hurt you, nor need to put you under a spell to make you complacent,” Elrohir said. “Are you hungry? The cook is making oatmeal, with apple slices for flavor.”

I smile. “I’d like some. With a couple pinches of sugar and cinnamon if it’s handy.”

Elrohir chuckled. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He left the tent and I let my smile fall, clenching the sheets in my fists to stop myself from beating something, someone—even myself—with them.

How could I have been so disillusioned that I’d _willingly_ let him into my bed?! Does the argument that I had Captive’s Sickness even work as an excuse?! How could I believe Sauron’s lies?! How could I be so bloody _stupid_?!

Spell or no spell, I _knew_ he was evil! I _knew_ he was a monster!

And I still gave into him! When I should have been trying to find a way to fix my failure—when I should have been trying to find a way to kill him, I was letting him _fuck me_! Even _Bilbo_ had come to me in dreams, _twice_ , and told me I was being used!

Why did I not listen?!

A hand touched my shoulder and I flinched. “Frodo?” I look up at Gandalf. I sigh, relaxing my hands.

“How do I fix what I’ve done?”

Gandalf hummed. “Our working plan is one I would rather avoid if it can be done. So far, it’s to send you back and trust that you’ll be able to lead Sauron to his doom.”

“And how am I do to _that_?!” I shout. I wince and drop my shoulders. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell, I just…I’m angry at myself. Load of good it will do anyone, but…”

“You’ve every right to be angry if you wish. A lot of people are angry, but you are the only hope we have left, Frodo.”

“I failed before. Who’s to say I won’t again? Failure wasn’t even an option and I _still_ failed.” I feel his eyes staring at me.

“What happened on the mountain? Was there anything that could have been done differently that would have assured your success?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know what you mean?”

“It is not your doing that the quest failed, Frodo. Is there something _Sam_ could have done differently that day?” I glare at him. “I do not mean to impugn Sam’s memory. He was a brave Hobbit and a worthy friend. But did I not say that the pity of Bilbo would rule the fate of many?”

I furrow my brow.

_It was pity that stayed Bilbo’s hand. Many who live deserve to die and many who die deserve life…_

“Sam killed Gollum just before… _Sméagol_ was supposed to destroy the Ring? He was greedy of it! He’d not have destroyed it!”

“Not willingly, no. But his greed for it, his _love_ for the Ring would be his downfall and Sauron’s. I’m not saying he wouldn’t have died. Merely that he died too soon.”

I shake my head. “But I was chosen. It was…”

“We do not know how Iluvatar acts. We can neither predict his reasons nor his actions. We can only trust that he knows what he’s doing when he decides to act.” Gandalf stood. “After breakfast, we’ll have a council if you would like to join us.”

I nod. Elrohir returns with two bowls. “Sadly, we do not have cinnamon or sugar, Master Frodo. Forgive us for our shortcomings. I’m afraid our stocks are not as grand as Mordor.”

“Perhaps not,” I agree, smiling. “But grander stocks are a likely to stale a _lot_ quicker. _Especially_ in Mordor.”


	11. Chapter 11

“I am against sending you back into the pit, Frodo,” Eowyn said. “After my hard work to get you out, why should I let you return?” She glared at Gandalf. “He will only hurt you again.”

“Perhaps, but that’s a risk I will take. And there isn’t really any other option that has been made known. Or if someone has an idea that will _work_ , please be my guest and tell me. If it’s better than the one we have, then we’ll go with _that_ plan instead.”

“Other than letting you go back alone, the only other plan we have is to catch him ourselves and kill him, but…” Elladan exchanged glances with Elrohir before turning back to Frodo. “The only way to kill him would be to toss him into Mount Doom.”

“And he’s a Maiar, same as Gandalf,” Elrohir added. “I’m sure he would be able to escape us if he so wished it.”

Gandalf nodded. “He could. And he would.”

“So that plan is doomed to fail from the beginning,” Frodo said. “But relying on whatever it is Sauron supposedly feels from me, while superficial at best, is our only plan we can have any hope for success. I _have_ to go back. After what he did to my friends, my family, maybe even my _people_ …Eowyn, I don’t want to go back. Don’t believe for a second that I do. But I will do what I must. If I must go back, then I will go back.”

“You’ll go to your death!” Faramir growled.

Frodo shrugged. “It’s by Sauron’s will that I’m still alive. If death is the alternative, then so be it. I will die and if I succeed, then I will not regret dying. Only, my illness was a spell. I’m afraid it’d only be too easy to fall under it again.”

“No,” Gandalf said, “there is a mark that can block magic of any kind, good or ill. With it, Sauron won’t be able to cast a spell on you again. But neither will our magic be able to save you if you somehow survive this task.”

“Why has this mark never been known before?” Elrohir asked, scowling.

“Because it’s almost _never_ used,” Gandalf said. “Were it known, too many people would paint it on their doors or even carve it onto their own skin to block magic even if they need it most. True, Sauron would be blocked of all his magic, but so would _I_. And,” he narrowed his eyes at Elrohir, “so would _you_. All in all, it’s quite a nuisance at the best of times.”

“But it will keep me from being put under his spell again?”

“Yes.”

“If I do somehow survive, can it be removed?”

“It would be painful, but yes,” Gandalf said.

I bite my lip. “All right. Where would be the best place for me to get it?”

“Somewhere he will not notice it,” Faramir said. He stood and knelt at my feet, lifting it. “It’ll be painful, but what about on the sole of one of your feet?” I wince. Yes. That would be painful.

“So long as I can walk on it long enough to do what I must, I guess that’ll do.”

“You look nervous,” Elledan said. I glare at him.

“You get a mark on _your_ foot and tell me it’s not painful? Hobbits may have tough soles, but we still feel _pain_ there sometimes. Stubbing our toes is a rather pressing issue for us…I got a splinter once. Between my big toe and little one.” The intake of breath was quite satisfying. “Nothing was more painful.”

“And you milked as much sympathy as you could from it,” Gandalf said. “Even though you were fine an hour later! The grief you put your dear uncle through baffles even _me_.”

I shrug, giving him a genuine smile.

“Perhaps,” I say. “In my defense, it did hurt.”

“Well, I think splinter aside, getting an anti-magic mark branded on your foot is going to be rather painful,” Faramir said, barely shuddering. “I’m sure a Dwarf will be able to forge the brand for you.” I swallowed and nodded.

“The sooner we get it done, the sooner we can be rid of Sauron, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll do it. Sooner the better.”

Gandalf called the meeting adjourned.

My feet tingle and walking suddenly seems very difficult. I shake them, trying to relieve the sensation of burns on them.

“Are you sure about this?” Eowyn asked. “Even if you agree to go back, the brand doesn’t have to be on your foot.”

“I’d rather it not be there either,” I agree, “But then where else would it be easy to hide? It’s not really a place anyone thinks to get a…mark on. I just hope I won’t be limping so much that it’s noticed. I know it will at _first_ , but after…”

She pats my shoulder. “I knew Merry. He was a brave soul. It must be a family trait.”

I smile. “You could tell we were related?”

“You have the same eyes.” She squeezed my shoulder. “I wish you best of luck, Frodo.”

I thank her and head with Faramir and Gandalf to talk to the Dwarf smith.

#

The rune almost resembles that of the Tengwar letters, but it was no letter I have seen before. Gandalf said it was meant to resemble a dragon or a horse with wings.

It seems such a neutral image to me, that I’m likely to name it a winged horse though I’m actually reminded of a dragonfly.

The iron stamp will be small and the brand itself will be on the arch of my foot.

 _Valar above_ , I blanch, _it may be small but it’s going to_ hurt _._

I sigh and spend the day learning how the brand will be treated.

“But branding may take a little too long for healing,” the dwarf, Nális, said. “It might be better for it to be inked into the skin.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Having it branded will leave you incapacitated for as long as a year, Master Hobbit,” the Dwarf said. “Whereas having it inked into your skin will only take at the very most a month for recovery. But given how long you need, the bandaging of it will only take at most a week and then you should be fine so long as it’s not soaked in water for long. Also, the bottom of a foot is a dreadful location for both! If it’s secrecy you wish, placing it where it can be covered and still indiscrete would be a better option.”

I nod. “Maybe we should discuss this more before any decisions are made.”

“Aye,” Nális agreed. We agreed to talk about it more on the marrow.

Until then, I went to bath in the Bruinen, folding my clothes and leaving them on the shore while I dunked in the Bruinen’s stream, dunking under water to wet my hair and scrub my face.

When I reemerge, shivering, I rub my arms, trying to get warm.

_It’s not my fault. Who could have known that this would happen?_

_Sam couldn’t have known we needed Gollum alive, so I will not have my friend blamed either!_

_Put it all on Isildur for not destroying the Ring in the first place. Or even on Elrond for not being more forceful with him._

_Or just hang it **all** and blame Sauron—_

_Who may or may not be fond of me._

_Who abused me because he doesn’t know how to…_

_Stop that thought right there! He is not worthy of your pity!_

I rein in a sob because I _know_ that I am safe, but I still feel in danger. Just for different reasons.

While I am with Faramir and Gandalf, I am safe.

I am safe with the Laithagwaith and I would be quite happy to remain here in the ford of Bruinen if I could. But I can’t. I have to go back because I’m the only one they have to hope in.

_I’m the only one they have…_

I sigh, heart heavy in my chest and nearly bent from the weight of it as though the Ring again was latched around my neck. Maybe, so long as Sauron lives, I will always feel like the Ring is still around my neck.

Something to love and hate at the same time, something I would—I regret—kill myself to lose and kill everyone else to keep.

I’ll never be free of it while I live…

 _Getting upset and depressed will not do anyone any good_ , I think, _least of all myself._

Nális and I talked a little more about how to care for a tattoo, which, we agreed, would be placed on my inner thigh instead of my foot (which is a far more comforting thought than it should be, given that I agreed that, instead of getting a third-degree burn, I’d have ink injected into my skin. By a needle).

He said the tattoo could be small enough that it would seem insignificant, so long as he could see his work when it was finished, examine it to make sure it healed properly…

Well, needless to say, I don’t care so long as the tattoo is _done_ and _unnoticeable_ by anyone else.

“I admire your eagerness, Master Baggins,” Nális said, “But it would be better for you to wait for tomorrow.”

“And I _can_ wait,” I say. “But I’d rather get everything out of the way.” I sit beside him. “I’m anxious. And frightened…I beg your pardon, I just…”

“Fear is natural. No one here will judge you for it. What you _do_ with your fear is what matters. You’re weary. It’s noticeable. But you don’t let your fear rule you. Aye. That’s more important than anything else, Lad. Not letting it rule you. You may be no warrior, Master Baggins, but you’re certainly worthy of the respect you get.”

“I would think most would be angry with me.”

“Most _are_ angry with you. Angry enough that the first thing that was done as soon as it was known that the Ringbearer was a Hobbit was that the Pointy-Eared long-shank tree-shaggers got your people out of Middle Earth before any Men could go after them.”

I stare at him.

He chuckles. “Look alive, Master Baggins, you’re the last Hobbit on earth.”

“And my time will soon come to an end,” I say.

Nális pats my shoulder. “Don’t dwell on what’s been done. Only focus on what you can do and do it well.”

And that is what frightens me the most:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday today, so I am embracing hobbit tradition and giving you updates!


	12. Chapter 12

Hobbits already have little hair on most of their body, such as in the inner thigh, exposed by removing my pants, but thankfully I was allowed to keep my small clothes. Nális said that some got piercings on their bits and laughed when I shuddered. Who’d want piercings on their _bits_? It makes no sense to me.

I watch Nális prepare the needle and ink.

“Relax, Lad,” Nális urged. I inhale and exhale slowly. How am I to relax when he’s about to poke me with a needle? Repeatedly?! I close my eyes and dig my fingers into the chair. I felt him clean the skin and then—

The sharp stinging of the needle isn’t as bad as I thought, so I open my eyes. “It’s not as bad as I thought it would be.”

“It would hurt more on different areas of your body. Or less,” Nális explained. “It depends. It also varies from person to person. Many Dwarven warriors get them over the years to express their success.”

“Did Gimli have any?”

Nális nodded. “Aye. He did. The lad was young, but not so young. He had a few inks and baubles you may not have paid attention to, intent on your journey and all.”

I hum. “There was a lot on my shoulders. Most of the time, I was worried about what I’d do once I got there rather than focus on whatever joy I could have found. Since joining with the Laithagwaith, I’ve learned that even the smallest action can have dire consequences and that the tiniest shift in perspective can change an entire outlook.”

“You’ve grown wise since his return.”

“Wise? No. Not wise, just…more insightful. I just… _see_ things differently. It’s like something that once was mine was ripped from me and I can’t get it back.”

“And you never will. War does that,” Nális said, setting the needle down and taping gauze to cover it. “There you are, Master Baggins. One tattooed protection sigil. Leave the bandage on for at _least_ two hours. After which, you’ll want to wash it with lukewarm water and a mild soap. One will be provided for you at that time. Wash off with just your hand, _pat_ dry with clean linen. Ointment will also be provided for you. You’ll want to use the ointment for about a week before switching to lotion. It’s okay to shower and you should, but I don’t suggest a _bath_ for a good two weeks. It should scab a little bit and a moist, warm compress should aid it a couple times a day. If it’s scabbing too much, come and see me.”

“Why?”

“It means the work was shoddy. I doubt I messed up that _bad_ , but you never know. Better safe than sorry. It will itch, but just slap the skin to relieve it. Don’t pick, don’t scratch and if scabbing does occur, _don’t_ pick at it. Just leave it be and put some lotion on.”

“So two weeks?”

“Two weeks and avoiding direct sunlight on your leg.”

“That shouldn't be too hard.”

“Nope.”

I got out of the chair and grabbed my pants, pulling them on.

“Thank you,” I tell him. Nális bowed and sent me on my way.

The Elves and Men were curious about it and while I have this _urge_ to show it to them, I’d rather not be dropping my trousers again so soon anyway.

#

“He’s gone back to Mordor,” Elrohir said to Gandalf. “They searched for Frodo as long as they could and now they’re heading back. Their numbers had lessened a bit. I guess those who were sent to look for him and returned empty handed were executed.”

“Hello,” I snap, hands on my hips. “I’m right here.” Elrohir winced.

“Sorry, _mellon nin_. I did not see you.”

“It’s one thing not to be noticed when I don’t _want_ to be noticed, but when I’m not even trying?” I can’t help but find that a little annoying.

“I am sorry!”

“Frodo?” Gandalf touched my shoulder.

“I’m fine,” I say, sighing. “I’m scared. I know what I am about to face this time, but I am frightened.”

He squeezed my shoulder. “Get some food and rest. I’m afraid there isn't much to be done but _try_ to rest, Frodo. You must go pretending to have seen what Sauron had told you and have escaped certain death. He might notice that the spell he cast on you is gone and he will try to recast it.”

“So he’ll know it didn't work?”

“Pretend that it did,” Elladan suggested, joining to stand beside his brother, propping his arm on his shoulder. “It might work.”

“I doubt it,” I said. Gandalf hummed.

“We will head to Rivendell first,” he said. “It is, as I can guess, the reason for Sauron venturing out of Mordor?” I nod.

“When I learned that Bilbo died, I begged him to let me go to Rivendell. Bringing the whole bloody army was the only way he’d allow it.”

“It would perhaps mean more to go with true friends,” Elrohir said. “If you would like us to go with you? I’m not keen on visiting my old home. Too many memories.”

“Certainly there are good memories too,” I say. He nods.

“There are. But they bring me sorrow. I fear I will crawl into despair if I were to find the chair my sister died in. Or the balcony where my father fell when the Orcs finally broke through our defenses.”

I stare at him, feeling as though my blood was becoming ice. “Lady Arwen passed? How? When?”

“It was, we believe, on the hour that Sauron returned,” Elladan said, dragging his fingers through Elrohir’s hair. “A month later, Rivendell was besieged and overrun. Some of us escaped, but not everyone managed it—”

I run, heading into the forest. I ram into a tree and slide to the ground. _I killed Arwen_ , I think. _I killed her_.

_“Frodo!”_

I hide my face in my hands. So many have died because I failed. My friends, my people had to flee. What more have I do to before I meet someone who will punish me as I should? Or will I be my own punisher?

_“Frodo!”_

“Frodo!” Eowyn skidded to a halt before me. “Thank the Valar! Come back to camp.”

“Why?”

She knelt. “Frodo, whatever it is, it’s not your fault. You didn’t know.”

“I did know. I knew the consequences of failing and I still failed.”

“You have not failed until you have died,” she said, cupping my face. “Frodo, we need you to stay strong. Just a little while longer. Until you are old and death greets you as a friend, preferably. Laithagwaith will protect you.”

“Even though, in one single moment, I doomed us all?”

“You have doomed _no one_ , my friend,” Eowyn said. “Was it my fault I could not save my uncle when he fell in battle? He was injured and already dying, Frodo. I saved him from a crueler fate. My brother died in battle too, fighting alongside the Fellowship. Frodo, you are the last of those champions, Gandalf cannot do what we need to have done. Only you. And when you return from Mordor a second time, victorious, you will be honored as our savior. You live. There is hope yet. ‘I give hope to others.’”

I stared at her, biting his lip. “‘I keep none for myself.’ You know it?”

“I do. And it is a foolish thing to do. How can those who preach hope and give it not believe in it? Frodo, too many have died, not one by your hand, but by Sauron’s. He made a mistake and giving us hope: he gave us _you_. Do not despair. The dead watch and wait for your victory as surely as we do.”

“That is not comforting.”

Eowyn squeezed my shoulder. “No one blames you. We are angry, but we direct it where it should be directed: at Sauron.”

“Arwen died because I couldn't throw a _ring_ into a pit of lava!” I shout. Eowyn doesn't back away, shifting to sit beside me instead. “She died because Sauron fought long and hard for his survival. He should have killed you if he wanted to live because then _this_ ,” she waved at the forest in the direction of the camp. “Would fail. Frodo, take heart. Have hope. Failure only happens on two accounts: one is death. The other is that you stop trying. Until you have completely given up or die, there is hope. We will have hope. So please, Frodo, don’t be so hard on yourself. Come back to camp. We will go to Rivendell and you can visit Bilbo’s grave before we take you to Mordor.”

She stood and held her hand out to me. I stare at it, unsure whether to take it or not.

“I can’t do this.”

“You _can_. And you _will_. You sell yourself too short, Frodo son of Drogo. It is despair the drags you down. I thought you were more Took than that.”

I glance up. “How—”

“Merry was my shield-brother and my friend,” she lowered her hand. “We spoke a lot and he won favor with my uncle, but even then, he and I were ostracized from the army. I because of what I had between my legs, Merry on account of his size. We proved them all wrong together. If you and he are kin, then you have the same blood as some of the strongest men I know. It’s frightening, I agree. I would feel the need to despair as well, but despair only will hold you back. So don’t think of what has passed. Don’t think of what you cannot change, but honor the memories of those who have been lost in this war by thinking of how you will preserve the future.”

She extended her hand again. This time I took it.

#

Abandoned, Rivendell looked less like the grand city it was and more like an old fortress. The gardens had overgrown and the once great balconies were all but rubble.

A plot by the waterfall had plaques nailed into the ground, unmoving, naming the deceased. I knelt by one plaque, tracing the Cirth letters.

_Bilbo Baggins_

_Master Thief, Ringbearer, Elf-Friend_

_2890-3019 TA_

I inhaled deeply, letting the breath out slowly as I lay a bouquet of wild flowers on the ground.

“I need you with me,” I say, “I just wish I could have been as strong and as brave as you were, Uncle.”

“In a way, you’re stronger,” Gandalf said. I look at him before turning back to the plaque.

“He never despaired,” I say, “And when I think about that, I feel like a whining tween again. I only ever wanted to be like him but I never managed to even _touch_ the legend that was Bilbo.”

“You put him too high on a pedestal. There are days, I’m sure, Bilbo wondered what he was thinking himself. I know he doubted himself on his journeys even if he didn't speak of them.”

“But—”

“No, Frodo,” Gandalf sighed. “Bilbo loved you and he was always proud of you to the end.” I stand.

“Is it time to go?”

“It is time to eat. We will stay a few days for those who used to live here to say their goodbyes again and then we will head to Mordor together.”

I shake my head. “We will die.”

“Do not fear death. It is merely a part of life. Come. I think we have steak today. A wonderful change! I was beginning to tire of rabbit.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rape is in this chapter. You have been warned. It is sectioned off in case you want to skip that but read the rest of the chapter.

I stare at the gates. I had hoped I’d never look upon them again. An empty hope if any. I sigh and turn to the others. “Wish me luck?” I ask.

Eowyn knelt and embraced me, planting a kiss on my forehead. “Our prayers are go with you, Frodo.” She stands and Faramir kneels in her place, pressing his forehead to mine.

“Good luck, Frodo. And may the Valar be on your side.”

“Thank you.”

Next were the twins. “We cannot look into the future as clearly as our father could,” Elrohir said. “But we give you our hope and our prayers.”

Elladan handed me a small dagger on a long chain, looping it around my neck. “If you run into danger, you may need that. Keep it hidden until that time.” I tuck the blade under my shirt and turn to Gandalf.

“There is little more I can say at this point, save for: good luck and may the Valar be with you.”

“Thank you…for everything,” I say. “I hope we meet again, whether in this life or the next.”

I look at the gates again, inhaling slowly. I let my breath out just as slow, almost whistling between my teeth. I run down the hill, dust kicking up as I ran. I tripped at the bottom and skin my knee. Okay. I can use that to my advantage. Standing, I run for the gates and bang against them.

“Let me in!” I shout. “Please! It’s Frodo! Let me in!” The gate opens and two guards emerge, swords in hand. I back away, wondering if I should try my luck another day, but the smaller grabs my shoulder.

“Milord, welcome home,” he says. There is a hint of mocking in his greeting. I pretend not to hear it. He turns to the larger. “Go inform the Master that his _beloved_ has returned.” There is also mockery in the way he says “beloved,” but I suppose that’s only to be expected.

I’m led into Mordor and the gates crash closed behind me. I close my eyes. No turning back now.

#

I am returned to my gilded cage, like a bird who found its way home. Sting is on the mantle again in its glass box and ever glowing. I do not need my dagger right now. None here are going to harm me, so I put it under my pillow in the bedroom.

Whatever wounds I have are cleaned—a few bumps and bruises I acquired to give a convincing tale through training with Dwarves and the others. At least I can fight a little _better_ than I used to. The healers do not bandage my wounds, insisting I take a bath first.

I admit that hot water is a blessed return, but it may be the only thing I really, honestly missed. Even if my wounds sting slightly from it. After my bath, my wounds are slathered in poultice and wrapped in linen before I can dress in fresh clothes—black breeches and tunic. I retrieve the dagger and hide it under my shirt.

After that, I am informed that there is food waiting for me to eat. So I go to the kitchen and eat a bowl of soup, salad, bread with oil and vinegar. There is also cider and milk to drink. I cut myself a slice of chocolate cake for after with a cup of tea to wash it down with over a book in my library when the door opens and Sauron steps inside.

I set the cake and tea down on the table as he kneels taking my face in his hands. I smile.

“Hello, my love,” I say softly.

“Are you all right? You aren’t hurt?”

“Just a little. The healers have already looked at me. I’ll be fine. No one found me—”

“That woman will pay when I find her!”

“You won’t. She is dead. Her and the baby.” He stares at me. “She tried to kill me. I kicked her and sent her into early labor. I left her like that, but I had gotten lost in the forest and had been wandering since.”

His thumb traces a healed scar and I kiss his hand. “Can we not worry about it anymore, my love? I am home, am I not? I am alive or do you think what you see and touch is a ghost?”

Sauron kisses me and I gasp and the feeling of ice crawling through me. It dissipates and I return the kiss, trying to force my body to relax.

“You are lying to me, Frodo. Something is different.”

I pull away, glaring at him. “I am not lying, Sauron.”

“You are.”

I grit my teeth, refusing to take the bait and have him call me out again. He knows his spell didn’t work this time. “If you are going to accuse me baselessly, then we can talk later when you’re more likely to at least believe me.”

“But I do _not_ believe you. You are hiding something from me and—”

He cuts himself off. I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I _know_ you had a spell on me,” I say. “I know you cast one on me to make me complacent to your will.”

“So you took precautions against it?!” he demanded.

“Yes. I did. As for what _really_ happened, I will not tell you. I came back, did I not? Will that not count for something? Must you know what happened during the weeks we’ve been separated?”

“Why _did_ you come back if you hate me so much? If the spell is broken, you must hate me, so why did you come back to me?”

“I don’t hate you. It’s worse than that: I pity you. I think you’re pathetic and foolish, poisoned by your master’s hate and wishing his folly could come to fruition.”

Sauron seizes my throat and pins me against the wall. I close my eyes, waiting for a blow. The hand on my throat slides down to my chest. When I open them, He has fallen to his knees, hand resting over my heart. He presses his head against the wall beside me.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I love you, Frodo.”

“I believe you,” I reply. “Maybe you _can_ feel love. You’d not have gone to so much trouble with _this_ ,” I gesture around the room. “If you did not feel something similar to love for me. But the way you treat me, try to control me, and my emotions, casting spells, locking me away in here…Sauron you can say you love me, but the way you treat me will never result in love returned. At least not _real love_. Real love needs to be earned. Not forced. You are incapable of understanding anything that does not involve conquest and _that_ is why I _do not_ love you.”

“Yet you returned. Perhaps you do love me.”

“I do not. I never have and you know very well that I never have and it was not because I love you that I returned. I am sorry.”

The hand curls into a fist, bunching up my tunic. I can feel his tension. His hand releases my shirt and the back of it collides with my cheek. I hold my cheek, staring at the ground and far from surprised. He seizes my hair and yanks. I grip his wrist, trying to pull him off.

“Sauron, don’t do this—” He throws me into the bedroom, locking the door behind him.

_Oh no. Valar, please no…_

_~Rape scene here. Skip if this triggers you~_

I back into the wall, hand gripping at the dagger still tucked into my shirt. He tries to cage me in, but I dodge him running for the door. Sauron tackles me, ripping my breeches down. I reach into my tunic, pulling the dagger out and trying to twist around and stab him.

Sauron seizes my wrist and pries the weapon away tossing it far out of reach. He slaps me again, locking my hands together with one of his. I blink, trying to regain my vision—

I scream at the pain, tears spilling out of my eyes unwillingly. I refuse to scream again, biting my lip till it bleeds to keep my voice locked in my throat. Sauron’s cock burns and I feel torn. I probably _am_ torn. As his thrusts pick up pace, I feel blood—what else could it be?—trickling down my legs.

Sauron pants above me, biting my shoulder till that too bleeds. His other hand curls around my flaccid member, tugging unmercifully. I bite my lip harder when I whimper.

_Bilbo!! Somebody!!_

No aid.

No help.

I am branded…

His climax burns deep. It stings. He doesn’t release me yet, though his grip lessens and he pulls his teeth out. When I’m certain I won’t scream I relax my jaw.

_~End of scene~_

“And you wonder why I don’t love you,” I hiss.

He pulls out of me. When I manage to stand, I see him, expecting his expression to be unfeeling. I don’t expect him to be hiding his face in his hand. He stands wobbling and tucks himself back into his brais before he leaves. His head is bowed and shoulders hunched as he closes the door behind him.

It hurts to move, but I won’t waste my time any more. I go to bathe and wash away the blood and the poultices. Twice, I escaped the tub to vomit. My body is overrun with cold and no matter how hot the water is, how much it scalds and stings, I don’t feel even just a little bit warm.

My body shivers as I climb back into the tub, dunking underneath. The area around my bum burns. My shoulder burns. My lip burns. I don’t know if I can stop the bleeding. Probably not.

When I’m as clean as I can possibly feel, I wrap linen around my lower body to stem the blood. It feels like diapers, but it doesn’t matter at this point. I can’t bring myself to care.

I stumble back to the room and dress in the torn clothes and grab the dagger. I ram my elbow into the glass protecting Sting, hand wrapped in a cloak and I pull it out. I focus on breathing.

_Bilbo, what do I do?_

When I open my eyes, Bilbo is there and he beckons me to follow and I follow. He disappears through the door. I open it and Boromir is there.

 _“This way,”_ he says, running to the staircase and running down.

When I reach the landing, it’s not Boromir or Bilbo I meet, but Gimli, pointing at a door in the wall. I go through it, closing it in time to hear the pounding of feet.

When they pass, a hand touches my shoulder. I raise Sting. It’s Pippin. He steps through the door and I follow, expecting another one of the Company to be there. It’s still Pippin and he’s running down the hall. I chase after him and arrive at the gate.

The watchers stand ominously as always before me. Legolas stands between them. He waves for me to come. I feel my blood bleeding through the linen and fall to my knees.

“Give me a moment.”

A hand is stuck under my nose.

 _“There is no moment to spare,”_ Legolas says. _“Now or never.”_

I take his hand and it burns like ice. I run past the watchers, ready to hear them scream and they do. I cry out and cover my ears. Hands pull me up and shove me forward.

Another pair grabs my hands. Merry pulls me up and I follow him.

They’ll know I’m gone soon. But for now, I am out. I am free.

And I will go to my death if it means the death of Sauron.


	14. Chapter 14

My legs throb beneath me and I pant. Breathing has become difficult. My brow is sweating and I don’t know if it is because of the heat of Mordor or myself. My vision has grown shaky and my body shudders.

_“Frodo.”_

I blink, trying to focus. Aragorn kneels down beside me. I bite my lip.

“I’m sorry. I need to rest.”

His hand is cool against my skin. _“They will find you if you do not keep moving. You can rest when everything is over. We’re almost there, Frodo.”_

“I’m sorry for failing you.”

Aragorn shook his head. _“The one who failed was me. The fellowship never should have broken up. Gandalf trusted me to lead you in his absence. I never should have let you venture to this land on your own with no guide.”_

I close my eyes, whimpering. “My body hurts. He broke me, Aragorn. I still feel him and I am scared. I’m terrified.”

 _“Frodo, open your eyes. You cannot sleep yet,”_ Aragorn said. I obey. There is no condemnation in his eyes or pity. _“Listen to me, my friend. I am sorry for what happened this night. Were I able, I would have defended you to my last breath. Dear Frodo, he cannot break you. Even now, in the midst of perhaps the worst trial you have had, you push forward and you do not dwell on it.”_

“If I do, I will despair and my strength will be spent. I cannot let that happen. Not yet.”

 _“Then get up and keep going,”_ Aragorn said, standing. _“Get up and come home.”_

I stare at him for a bit before pushing myself back up. My bum smarts and the blood irritates me, but I push forward, following Aragorn the rest of the way in silence. Half the time, my eyes are focused on where I put my feet.

_“Mr. Frodo.”_

My head snaps up.

Sam is here. Sweet Sam…Who meant to marry Rosie if we ever got the chance to return home. Who had so many dreams and a future awaiting him! It was not fair he and my cousins lost their lives so young…

Bells toll.

_“They know you’re gone. Come on, Mr. Frodo. Up this cursed mountain one last time.”_

We walk side by side this time. The last time I was on this hill, I was so weak from hunger and thirst, so overtaken with despair, that Sam, just as weak and hungry as I was, carried me.

Now, I am not weak. Hurt, bleeding, possibly sick—yes. But not weak.

“What is left after this?” I ask.

 _“Only to go home,”_ Sam responds.

“What does that mean?”

Sam looks at me. _“That’s entirely up to you, Mr. Frodo.”_

I stop, almost blacking out when I hear the howl. “What was that? A Warg? Did Sauron send Wargs after me?”

 _“It’s not a Warg,”_ Sam said. I look at him. _“It’s Sauron himself. He’s catching up. I know you’re hurt, Mr. Frodo, but you need to run.”_

He sprints up the mountain. I follow.

“Sam? Sam! Explain to me what you mean that…that that howl— _how_ is that Sauron?!”

_“Well, a long time ago, Men and Elves called him the lord of werewolves on top of all other names and fancy titles he had.”_

Well that’s one question answered only to sprout a thousand more and there is simply no time for tales. Not anymore. All this time, I’d been living with a werewolf and I don’t have time to let that sink in though I wish I did. I enter the mountain.

I hold Sting in a tighter grip and I stand on the very edge where I failed. If I concentrate, I can feel the ring on my finger again. I can see the black riders approaching me and pinning me down, bringing me to Sauron, forcing me to give him the Ring.

Watching the Eye change into an Elf-like being. Seeing my friends murdered before my eyes. Being taken to the dungeons. Withstanding torture and long, drawn out nights where hunger gnawed at me and praying for death…

“Frodo!” I turn around. Sauron stands before me, eyes flashing. “Frodo, come here before you fall—” I raise Sting, aiming the point of the blade at my chest. His fury vanishes from his face, replaced by shock.

“If you come near me, I swear to the Valar, I’ll run the blade through!”

He kneels. “Don’t…don’t be rash.” His voice is quiet, pleading. “Frodo, I am sorry. I am so sorry, my love. Please, come back, I won’t…I won’t touch you again. I will leave you alone. I will give you anything you desire. You can have it. Even if what you desire is my life, you can have it. But please don’t…Frodo, I have been alone for a long time and I…I don’t want to be alone anymore. I don’t…please…don’t kill yourself because of a mistake I made.”

“Mistake?!” I shout. “You _raped_ me!”

“I know,” he said. “I know. I wish I could take it back. If I had the power to turn back time I would have taken it back. I love you, Frodo. I love you…so please.” He raises his hand to me. “Put Sting down. Put it down. I will make right what I can. I will end my campaign. I will lock my army into Mordor. Call all who are outside the Black Gates to come here and here they will stay. You can have anything and everything you desire, just…I love you, Frodo. I cannot bear the thought of losing you.”

“You should have thought of that _before_ you raped me! Or beat me! Or put spells on me to make me no less than your slave!”

“I know. I know, but…but is _this_ really necessary? Is it necessary to take your life? I will not touch you again. You need not see me again, my love. You can forget I exist. If it makes you feel better, I can lock the memories away. We need only _remove_ what blocks my magic. Frodo, please, step away from the ledge. Put the sword down. Come…come here. I will take you home. A healer will see to you. My beloved Frodo, you look so _ill_. It is my doing, I know. I am sorry. I will make it right if I can.”

I swallow. “Okay.” I said, lowering Sting. Sauron sighed, shoulders dropping. “Jump.”

Sauron blinks. “What?”

“You heard me,” I shout. “Cast yourself into the fire if what you promise me is true, that you will do whatever I ask if it means making what you have done even if it costs your life. I demand your life. Throw yourself into the fire.”

He does not move, shaking his head. “Do you hate me so much you wish me dead?”

“That has nothing to do with my request. You made me a promise. How can I trust a thing you say when you do not keep one promise. One thing I ask, that you kill yourself, and you cannot do it though you have promised it if I asked it. I ask it.”

“Frodo…please…”

“You pled for my life and now you plead for your own?” This isn’t working. I close my eyes, sighing. “Very well. Grant me mine to do with as I wish.” I turn and jump.

My fall is cut short when Sauron grabs my hand. Sting falls from my grip. I dig my hand into my shirt, pulling the dagger out. He holds me close. He’s shaking, whispering useless apologies and promises in my ear.

I embed the knife into his ribs, holding onto his own tunic until we fall and I let him go. Momentum picks up. He’s screaming my name. He splashes into the fire before me and when I land, I’m seized by such…

Such unimaginable pain that I cannot scream…I’m melting. I am fire.

And I am _nothing_ …

#

The breeze is cool against my skin as the sun is warm like the sand bed I have made. A gull cries overhead and the rush of water lulls my ears.

“Are you going to sleep the day away?” I open my eyes, blinking at the sunlight. I cover my eyes as they adjust. “You know, I never actually kept that promise that we’d go to the sea one day. Something _always_ came up. Be it work for me, school for you…and then it was too late.”

I sit up. Bilbo is sitting, toes half buried in sand and smoking his pipe. “How are you, Frodo?”

“I feel better…I feel…almost like I did before you left.”

“You feel the _peace_ you still had. The innocence you once had. You’re not the same.”

I shake my head. “No. I’m not.”

“None of what had happened was what I wished for you, Frodo.”

“I know. It’s not your fault, Uncle.” Bilbo blows a smoke ring. “Thank you…for guiding me…”

“You needed it, even when you didn’t know it.” He stood. “Come. Everyone is waiting to see you. Some even to meet you for the first time.”

“First time?”

Bilbo grins. “Well, the Fellowship and I weren’t the only ones ever watching over you. There are your parents. The Company…”

“The…you mean _the_ Company?” I shout, getting to my knees. _The Company of Thorin Oakenshield_ wants to meet me?!

“Well, I was one of them! Of course they’d keep an eye on you when I couldn’t. It really explains a bloody whole lot. The trouble you gave me as a tween, definitely Kili’s fault. And Bofur’s…And Nori’s. Maybe Fili’s too. There were _far_ too many mischief makers in the company, now that I think about it.”

I stand and embrace my uncle. “Can it wait? I just…I need a little time to adjust to…to all this.”

He pats my back. “Of course. Come on. I’ll show you our home. You can settle in, relax…there’s tea on the kettle and some pumpkin bread.”

I bite my lip. My throat is tight and I close my eyes, tears fall against my will. Bilbo pushes me aside so to wipe my tears, pressing his forehead to mine.

“It’s okay now, Frodo. You’re safe now.”

“Still damaged.”

Bilbo shakes his head. “What is broken can be put back together. You are _not_ damaged, my boy. _Never_ think that you are. You are loved. You are treasured. And you will get better. Frodo, you are so strong in ways even the greatest warriors cannot imagine. Strength is not outward, my lad. More often than not, it is inward.”

He lets me go, smiling. “Come on, Lad. Let’s go home.”

**_~The End~_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with this! A special thanks to all who reviewed!


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